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23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

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et  de  haut  en  bas,  en  prenant  le  nombre 
d'images  ndcessaire.  Les  diagrammes  suivants 
illustrent  la  mdthcde. 


1 

2 

3 

12  3 

4  5  6 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 


iBiiim 


iiiiWll 


f 


w 


AITINC;   FOR   THE    1  IDE 


Down  North   and 
Up  Along 

By 

Margaret  Warner  Morley 

Author  of  '«  The  Honey-makers,"  ««  The  Bee  People," 


etc. 


fVith  Illustrations 


% 


New  YoiK 


Dodd  Mead 


and  Company 


1912 


PC 

53/7  V 
/9/Z 


Copyright^  igoo 
Bv  DoDD,  Mead  and  Company 


UNIVERSITY  PRESS  •   JOHN  WILSON 
AND    SON      •      CAMBRIDGE,  U.S.A. 


7//.  7^- 


CONTENTS 


Pack 

I.     DiGBY ^      ^  . 

II.     Cannon  Field lg 

III.  Acadia -g 

IV.  Acadia's  Crops ^n 

V.     Grand  Pr£ -_ 

VI.     Evangeline gq 

VII.    The  Acadians 8q 

VIII.     Blomidon „. 

94 

IX.    Partridge  Island uq 

X.     Halifax •     •     .     .     .  no 

XI.     Toward  Cape  Breton iaS 

XII.    Baddeck ..g 

XIII.  Englishtown  ...».,..,  17^ 

XIV.  French  River ,„. 

XV.    Cape  Smoky 21  . 

XVI.     Ingonish ^     ^  2qr 

XVII.     The  Half  Way  House 254 

XVIII.    AsPY  Bay  . *     *  ^^^ 

XIX.    Cape  North ^g- 


gaBaBJSBaa 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

Waiting  for  the  Tide Frontispiea 

Facing  Pace 
DlCBY  .       .       ,       ,       , 

Sounds  drying    ... 

«4 

Ox  WITH  Head  Yoke  ...  « 

•••••••       2e 

At  the  End  of  the  Day ,  ^ 

A  Leafy  Tent  op  the  Micmacs 33 

Spinning   . 

"54 

Cape  Smoky,  Cape  Breton '  .g 

Drying  Cod  . 

...      208 

Splitting  Tables      .     . 

210 

Early  Morning  on  the  Coast  . 

*        •        •        •        Z  Zx 

Washing  Potatoes  .     . 

230 

Catching  Trout  for  Dinner 

„  ^44 

'booking  Trout  .     . 

262 

Clybourn's  Brook  .      . 

278 

A  Fishing  Schooni-r      .     .  , 

••••••..      296 

ne  illustration,  in  this  book  are  from  photographs  l.y  An^elia  M.  Watson, 
Edttb  S.  fFatson,  and  Frank  G.  fVamcr, 


MAPS 

Facing  Pags 
Nova  Scotia       •••...,,..  g 

CoRNWALLis  Valley ,g 

Cape  Breton  Island     .     ,     ,     , ,^3 


>• 


II 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 


DIGBY 

THE  St.  John  River  runs  uphill.  Not 
through  its  whole  course,  and  not 
all  the  time.  Still,  it  runs  uphill,  as 
one  can  readily  see  by  standing  at 
high  tide  on  the  bridge  that  crosses  its  mouth 
at  the  town  of  St.  John,  and  watching  the 
water  rush  like  a  mill-race  up  from  the  Bay  of 
Fundy  into  the  land,  where  it  pours  over  rocks 
in  cascades  that  fall  the  wrong  way. 

Aside  from  this  eccentricity,  the  St.  John  Is 
an  orderly  and  very  beautiful  stream,  winding 
in  its  course  and  bordered  by  lovely  headlands. 
From  St.  John,  New  Brunswick,  to  Digby, 
Nova  Scotia,  is  a  three  or  five  hours'  sail,  ac- 
cording to  the  condition  of  the  "  St.  Rupert's  '* 
steam  cylinders,  that  humorous  vessel  having  a 
way  of  blowing  one  or  more  of  them  out  just 
before  tne  hour  of  starting. 

The  way  from  St.  John  to  Digby  lies  across 
the  Bay  of  Fundy.  What  better  port  of  entry 
to  a  new  country  could  be  desired  than  the 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 

sounding  Bay  of  Fundy,  with  the  high  tides 
of  one's  childhood's  geography  still  beating  on 
its  shores  ? 

And  then  the  thrill  of  mingled  indignation 
and  satisfaction  with  which  one  suddenly  dis- 
covers the  English  flag  over  one's  head  instead 
of  the  stars  and  stripes !  Indignation  thus  to  be 
sailing  under  a  foreign  flag  in  one's  own  coun- 
try, as  it  were,  but  satisfaction  to  have  reached 
foreign  soil  with  so  little  effort.  One  always 
observes  with  regret  that  the  English  flag  is 
far  more  beautiful  than  the  stars  and  stripes,  — 
for  no  amount  of  loyalty  can  blend  a  stripe 
of  red  and  then  of  white  into  a  harmony  truly 
grateful  to  the  eye. 

The  Bay  of  Fundy  cannot  be  described  as 
an  exciting  spectacle  on  that  calm  August  day 
when  first  we  saw  it.  Indeed,  it  very  much 
resembled  any  other  expanse  of  water,  and  if  its 
tides  are  beyond  all  reason  we  did  not  perceive 
it  then. 

We  came  sailing  through  the  Digby  Gut  at 
sunset,  the  clear  waters  of  Fundy  behind  us,  the 
Annapolis  Basin  opening  dream-like  in  front, 
while  to  the  right  the  bold  front  of  Beaman*s 
Mountain,  and  to  the  left  the  abrupt  termina- 


J^igh     

tion  of  North  Mountain,  narrowed  the  Gut  to 
its  present  mile-wide  channel,  holding  it  in 
sure  rocky  bonds  that  no  monster  tides  nor 
winter  storms  could  unloose. 

If  the  gods  are  propitious,  when  the  traveller 
sails  through  Digby  Gut  he  will  have  a  clear 
sky  under  which  the  Annapolis  Basin  will  lie 
blue,  and  in  the  distance  misty,  defined  by  the 
pleasing  outlines  of  its  purple-blue  hills.  On 
the  right  Digby  will  lie,  so  dream-like  and 
lovely  that  one  fears  to  draw  near,  lest  it 
vanish  and  a  commonplace  village  take  its 
place. 

If  the  gods  are  wholly  inclined  to  favour  the 
traveller,  he  will  approach  Digby,  not  only  at 
sunset,  on  a  clear  day,  but  at  low  tide  as  well. 
Then  the  village  that  in  the  distance  was  a 
vision  of  wonderful  blues  and  purples  will  not 
grow  commonplace  as  he  comes  near,  for  he 
will  forget  all  about  it. 

By  the  time  he  is  close  enough  to  discover 
its  unpoetical  and  actual  state  his  attention  will 
be  centred  upon  the  wharf  that  towers  high 
above  the  smoke-stack  of  the  steamer  as  it 
comes  alongside  it.  Far  above  the  passengers* 
heads  a  heavy  wall  of  planks  is  hung  with  wet 

3 


I 


I 


il: 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 

seaweeds  and  painted  deep  browns  and  greens 
by  the  ocean,  while  clusters  of  barnacles  add 
their  gray  and  white  to  the  strange  decorations. 
There  is  a  strong  salt  smell  in  the  air,  that 
fragrance  of  seaweed  that  always  brings  loving 
memories  of  landing  on  distant  shores. 

The  "  St.  Rupert  "  did  not  seem  so  small  a 
saint  until  we  came  under  this  giant  sea-tapes- 
tried wharf  and  saw  the  people  above  leaning 
over  and  peering  down  into  the  depths  where  we 
wallowed  in  the  sea.  And  we  saw  no  method 
shr~t  of  flight  which  could  raise  us  to  their 
level. 

I  expected  M.,  my  artist  friend,  who  is  timid 
in  the  face  of  high  places,  to  look  worried  over 
the  situation  ;  but  no,  she  was  as  serene  as  a 
May  morning.  The  wharf  was  picturesque, 
hence  so  commonplace  an  emotion  as  fear  was 
no  luxury  here,  and  she  left  the  responsibility 
of  landing  to  the  English  government  while 
she  enjoyed  the  novel  scene  to  the  utmost. 

High  wharves  have  their  own  secrets,  we 
were  to  learn,  as  the  boat  with  much  puffing 
and  snorting  and  rope-pulling  finally  swung 
about  and  we  discovered  ourselves  close  to  a 
landing  within  the  pier.     Beneath  one  side  of 

4 


m 


ity 
ile 


I 


of 


Digby 

W      I  ■■  — -  I         —I  -■-.-  I       ■-      .-■  I         , _ ^ 

it  a  wedge  had  been  cut  out,  the  narrow  end 
on  shore,  and  the  wide  one  out  in  the  water 
under  the  wharf.  The  opening  thus  formed 
was  heavily  planked  within,  and  we  crossed  the 
gangway  into  a  cavern  slimy  and  strange. 

The  floor  upon  which  we  stepped  was  damp, 
barnacles  encrusted  the  beams  at  the  sides  and 
overhead,  while  green,  brown,  and  yellow  sea- 
weeds hung  on  the  walls,  and  a  large  starfish 
with  his  arms  wrapped  about  a  stone  appeared 
to  be  gazing  knowingly  at  us  out  of  one  round 
Cyclopean  eye,  which,  alas !  was  no  eye  at  all, 
and  we  knew  that  in  spite  of  his  wise  look  he 
was  as  blind  as  a  mole. 

There  was  a  strong  clean  odour  of  the  sea  in 
this  strange  cavern,  and  we  heard  some  one 
near  say  that  at  high  tide  the  place  upon  which 
we  stood  would  be  thirty  feet  under  water.  So 
this  giant  wharf  was  a  tribute  to  the  tides  of 
Fundy ! 

We  had  a  sudden  wish  to  get  out;  we  im- 
agined the  tide  coming  in  —  swiftly,  surely; 
concealing  the  existence  of  this  hole  in  the  side 
of  the  pier;  the  surface  of  the  water  sparkling 
in  the  sunlight  twenty  feet  higher  than  the 
roof  of  the  dark  cavern. 

5 


r-T 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 

Strong  horses,  drawing  low-swung  trucks, 
came  tramping  down  the  incline.  There  was  a 
crowd  of  people  making  their  way  toward  the 
oblong  space  of  light  at  the  top.  We  joined 
the  throng,  and  as  we  reached  the  top  turned 
and  looked  back. 

Above  us  were  great  jointed  timbers  form- 
ing a  rude  arch ;  within  was  the  half-lighted 
cavern  with  its  sea-painted  walls.  It  was  a 
strange  sight  and  one  that  often  afterward 
drew  us  to  the  wharf  when  the  tide  was  low  at 
the  hour  of  landing.  Up  out  of  the  sea-cavern 
poured  a  stream  of  people ;  dim  in  the  back- 
ground was  a  pool  of  water  where  the  blind 
starfish  clasped  its  stone  and  waited  for  the 
incoming  tide. 

The  people  seemed  to  be  coming  up  out  of 
this  water,  and  they  should  have  been  stream- 
ing with  seaweed  and  clad  in  scales. 

We  were  not  disappointed  in  Digby.  It  is 
not  the  dream  city  that  we  saw  from  the  boat, 
but  it  is  good.  Its  houses  are  commonplace 
and  uninteresting.  Still,  we  found  it  good  to 
be  in  Digby.  Its  location,  the  buildings  stand- 
ing on  one  long  street  under  a  hillside,  reminds 
one  of  Provincetown,  but  the  sand-hills  of  that 

6 


Digby 


fishy  place  of  delight  are  lacking  here ;  this  hill- 
side is  sodded  with  the  most  brilliant  green, 
and  groups  of  trees  grow  upon  it. 

At  present  life  is  simple  in  Digby.  The 
"  Americans,"  as  they  call  us  of  the  United 
States,  have  not  yet  invaded  it  enough  to  spoil 
its  simplicity.  But  it  is  only  a  question  of 
time  when  fair  Digby  will  belong  to  the 
summer  tourist.  Now  it  is  in  possession  of 
the  codfish.  Everywhere  through  the  vil- 
lage, which  straggles  in  a  way  to  make  com- 
pensation in  part  for  its  crimes  in  architecture, 
are  to  be  seen  rows  upon  rows  of  "  flakes," 
covered  in  fair  weather  with  the  triumphant 
form  of  the  cod,  with  reinforcements  of  the 
less-esteemed  haddock,  hake,  and  pollock. 

The  codfish  flakes  are  the  same  here  as  on 
Cape  Cod,  the  same  gray  skeletons  built  of 
slats  laid  across  long  side-pieces,  like  wide, 
close-runged  ladders  placed  parallel  to  the  earth 
and  supported  two  feet  or  so  above  it. 

One  likes  codfish  flakes,  just  as  one  does 
old  houses  and  old-fashioned  posy-beds.  They 
give  character  to  a  place,  and  they  always  select 
the  most  picturesque  corners  and  fields  in  which 
to   exhibit    themselves.      They   cling   to   the 

7 


'-*»■>.  mini  .^.Hff'^-^irBn-Ti.  ^■^-.«,^-*.-v»«.<, 


:/! 


i 


i\ 


Down  North  and  Up  Aloitg 

shores,  pre-empt  all  unoccupied  places  about 
the  wharves,  and  cluster  about  the  cottages 
of  the  poor.  They  are  seldom  level,  but 
pursue  a  wavy,  uncertain  course,  as  though, 
gray  and  decrepit,  they  were  about  to  give 
up  mortal  strife  and  settle  in  peace  to  the 
earth  beneath.  And  then  the  odour  of  them  ! 
Anyone  who  does  not  love  the  faint  fragrance 
that  clings  to  the  gray  old  flakes  has  no  kin- 
ship with  the  ocean. 

During  the  summer  months  upon  the  flakes 
lies  the  wealth  of  Digby.  Here  the  codfish  is 
spread  out  to  dry.  The  time  of  greatest 
ignominy  as  well  as  of  greatest  picturesqueness 
for  a  codfish  is  during  its  season  of  drying 
upon  the  flakes.  It  may  then  be  sat  upon 
or  stood  upon  and  otherwise  misused.  It 
loses  its  identity  completely,  and  nobody  feels 
the  slightest  obligation  to  show  it  respect.  It 
has  lost  its  fishly  and  elegant  proportions ; 
it  is  flat,  shrunken,  saturated  with  salt,  and 
lies,  acres  of  it,  spread  out  on  its  flakes  to 
render  to  the  strong  sea-breezes  and  the  heat 
of  the  sun  the  last  remnant  of  water  in  its 
withered  form.  It  gives  a  quaint  colouring  to 
the  landscape  and  fills  the  air  with   its   own 

8 


U07lg 

ces  about 
cottages 
evel,    but 
though, 
:  to  give 
e  to   the 
of  them ! 
fragrance 
5  no  kin- 
he  flakes 
:odfish  is 
greatest 
squeness 
f  drying 
at   upon 
sed.     It 
)dy  feels 
)ect.     It 
ortions ; 
alt,  and 
akes   to 
the  heat 
r  in  its 
Liring  to 
its   own 


O 

u 
en 


■-# 


Dig  by 

inimitable  fragrance,  —  the  frjigrance  that  lin- 
gers about  the  flakes  when  its  form  is  no  longer 
there.  It  sends  forth  a  clean  appetising  odour 
very  different  from  the  fishy  incense  that  per- 
vades Provincetown,  that  mingled  odour  of 
fresh,  stale,  and  salt  fish  with  a  flavouring  of  tar 
and  bilge-water,  the  memory  of  which  pursues 
the  stranger,  but  does  not  fill  him  with  emo- 
tions of  delight. 

The  memory  of  the  fragrant  Digby  fish- 
flakes  is  a  pleasure.  Digby  is  so  exquisitely 
clean,  the  air  from  Fundy  is  so  abundant  and 
clear,  that  the  only  rivals  to  the  odour  of  the 
drying  cod  are  the  salt  smell  of  the  seaweeds 
at  low  tide  and  the  fragrance  from  the  sur- 
rounding flower-gardens. 

Whether  the  sailor  men  like  it  or  not,  they 
are  obliged  to  keep  ship  and  wharf  clean  when 
in  Digby.  The  law  gives  them  a  sharp  prod 
in  the  form  of  a  fine  if  they  grow  negligent. 

The  great  winds  are  a  wholesome  purifier  of 
both  ship  and  town,  but  even  so,  the  cleanliness 
of  the  fishing-schooners  as  they  come  in  loaded 
is  something  of  a  surprise.  It  is  something 
of  a  surprise  too  to  see  the  cod  put  through 
his  phases,  from  the  shining   fish  that  comes 


-{" 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 

in  on  the  schooners  to  the  dull  triangular 
form  that  appears  on  the  flakes. 

One  thinks  of  the  pitchfork  as  an  implement 
of  the  farm ;  it  bears  upon  its  prongs  sugges- 
tions of  new-mown  hay  and  golden  straw,  but 
here  at  Digby  its  real  meaning  is  apparent.  It 
is  Neptune's  trident  with  one  of  the  prongs 
lost  in  the  vortex  of  time.  It  is  used,  of  course, 
in  its  proper  field,  —  to  pitch  codfish.  Out  of 
the  ship's  hold  the  shining  forms  are  tossed  as 
a  farmer's  boy  tosses  a  sheaf  of  grain. 

They  have  already,  while  on  shipboard, 
gone  through  their  first  sad  experiences,  and 
now,  headless,  heartless,  and  saturated  with 
salt,  though  still  with  shining  skins,  they  are 
pitchforked  from  the  hold  to  the  deck. 
Another  trident-bearer  then  pitchforks  them  to 
the  wharf.  Here  they  are  pitchforked  to  the 
wooden  cradle  in  which  they  are  weighed. 
From  the  cradle  they  are  once  more  pitchforked 
into  a  great  quivering  heap  on  the  wharf. 
Thence  they  are  pitchforked  into  wheelbarrows 
and  wheeled  to  the  store-room,  where  they  are 
pitchforked  into  vats  and  resalted. 

As  the  cod  receives  his  last  pitchforking  you 
examine   him,  expecting   to  find  him    riddled 

xo 


Digby 


with  holes  and  as  ragged  as  Rip  Van  Winkle's 
old  coat  at  the  end  of  his  twenty  years*  sleep 
on  the  mountain.  But  here  is  matter  for  reflec- 
tion. Try  your  best  you  cannot  find  a  hole 
in  him.  He  bears  a  charmed  anatomy.  He 
must  certainly  have  been  constructed  with 
special  reference  to  being  pitchforked. 

There  is  a  fiction  about  his  getting  a  scrub- 
bing when  he  reaches  land.  This  is  a  treatment 
which,  to  the  observer,  he  appears  to  need 
several  times  before  he  is  finally  considered 
"  cured."  But  he  gets  it  only  once,  one  scrub- 
bing, like  a  plenary  indulgence,  evidently  being 
thought  sufficient  to  wipe  away  future  as  well  as 
present  stains.  There  are  reasons  for  conjec- 
turing that  the  scrubbing  is  sometimes  omitted 
altogether,  and  that  he  is  introduced  to  his  flakes 
with  the  manifold  marks  of  his  captivity  upon 
him. 

He  rests  awhile  in  the  vats  of  salt  into  which 
he  was  finally  pitchforked,  then  is  taken  out 
and  "  press-piled  "  for  a  few  days.  This  is  not 
as  bad  as  being  pitchforked.  It  is  merely 
being  piled  up,  tail  in  and  shoulders  out,  into 
a  round  mound  by  the  fish-flakes.  These 
mounds    of  penitent   cod   are  a   part   of  the 


II 


I 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 

picturesqueness  of  the  actual  life  of  the  flakes. 
There  is  now  no  more  pitchforking ;  that  ordeal 
at  least  is  over. 

The  fish  are  spread  upon  the  flakes  by  hand, 
and  the  operator  becomes  very  expert  in  shying 
a  dried  cod  into  exactly  the  right  spot.  An 
expert  will  shy  cod  half  the  length  of  a  long 
flake  and  never  make  a  miss. 

Here  they  lie  in  the  sun  to  be  blown  upon 
by  the  kindly  winds,  and  if  these  winds  prove 
unkindly  and  blow  upon  the  patient  cod  dust 
from  the  road  and  soot  from  the  chimneys,  that 
is  but  a  slight  vicissitude  in  the  life  of  a  dried 
codfish  which  nobody  minds. 

When  night  comes  the  cod  are  gathered  up 
into  piles  on  the  flakes  and  covered  over.  In 
the  morning  they  are  spread  out  again.  This 
is  repeated  every  fair  day  until  they  are  dry 
enough,  when  they  are  put  into  the  picturesque 
press-piles  again  to  await  transportation  to 
distant  markets.  Such  is  the  history  attached 
to  the  fragrant  flakes,  and  such  is  the  occupation 
of  Digby, 

Nothing  looks  less  likely  to  produce  a  large 
income  than  a  pile  of  dried  codfish,  perhaps 
with  an  old  coat  hung  over  it,  that  being  the 

12 


r.^ 


handiest  way  of  disposing  of  the  garment  until 
needed.  Yet  these  thin,  gray,  misshapen 
spectres  have  an  incredible  amount  of  good  meat 
packed  under  their  shrivelled  skins,  and  they 
bring  in  many  thousands  of  dollars  to  the 
industrious  fisher-folk. 

Nor,  while  we  are  upon  the  subject,  is  dried 
fish  the  sailor's  only  revenue  from  the  prodigal 
cod.  Upon  the  decks  of  the  ships  are  great 
odorous  vats  full  of  livers  from  which  the  sun's 
rays  are  economically  extracting  the  oil. 

Fish  oil  once  encountered  is  very  lasting,  and 
is  not  readily  forgotten  —  or  forgiven.  The 
cod-liver  oil  of  the  apothecary  is  a  fragrant 
delicacy  compared  to  the  contents  of  the  vats 
as  they  come  frothing  in  from  the  fishing 
grounds. 

Then  there  are  the  "sounds,"  as  the  sailors 
call  the  swim-bladders.  They  too  are  saved, 
and  having  been  dried  in  the  sun  go  to  the 
manufacturer  to  come  forth  as  gelatin,  or 
perchance  as  glue.  "  Fried  fresh  sounds  and 
cods'  tongues "  form  a  delicacy  highly  prized 
by  the  fisher-folk  and  not  to  be  scorned  by  the 
discriminating  stranger. 

The  sounds  are  sent  to  the  United  States, 

13 


f! 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 

mostly  to  Boston,  and  the  oil  too  is  sent  to  the 
United  States,  to  heal  her  consumptives  and 
grease  her  machinery,  but  the  cod  himself  takes 
his  last  sea- voyage  from  Digby  to  the  West 
Indies. 

The  ^est  Indians  must  have  an  unappeas- 
able appetite  for  dried  codfish,  judging  from 
the  quantities  reputed  to  be  sent  there.  Every 
week-day  Digby  prepares  codfish  for  the  West 
Indians,  but  not  on  Sunday.  Those  who  think 
it  a  sin  for  cod  to  dry  on  Sunday  have  raised 
a  bulwark  about  weak  humanity  that  might  be 
tempted,  by  imposing  a  fine  upon  the  public 
appearance  of  the  cod  on  the  Lord's  day. 

This  information  was  given  M.  by  an  owner 
of  cod-flakes  who  was  out  one  Sunday  morning 
in  quest  of  his  cow.  The  good  man  was  in  his 
work-a-day  clothes,  which  made  him  feel 
ashamed.  He  apologised  for  not  being  dressed 
up  as  became  a  respectable  man  on  Sunday, 
saying  he  did  not  expect  to  meet  with  ladies. 

This  little  incident  well  illustrates  the  con- 
dition of  the  people  here,  and  the  feeling  of 
self-respect  that  seems  to  animate  every  one. 

While  the  cod  may  not  appear  upon  Sunday 
without  causing  disgrace  to  his   owner,  still, 

14 


r^i 


Soi 


D 


UNDS  URVING 


■  V  *n<*3,r  'X'WW*v^W«!!l^i*?'?^t«t'^'^^ri*«?*^^ 


t  1 


Digby 

,,,,  I  '■" 

there  are  exceptions  to  all  rules,  M.'s  apolo- 
getic Sabbath-breaker  owned,  and  she  there- 
upon learned  that  the  limit  of  Digby's  piety  is 
the  condition  of  her  codfish,  for  if  there  should 
be  a  week  of  bad  weather,  and  the  fish  in 
danger  of  spoiling,  they  may  sun  themselves  of 
a  Sunday  without  injury  to  the  souls  of  their 
owners. 

M.'s  informant  was  himself  a  member  of  the 
Church  of  England,  because,  as  he  explained, 
the  "  English  "  were  not  as  strict  as  the  Bap- 
tists and  Methodists.  He  did  not  think  it  was 
wicked  to  sketch  on  Sunday,  a  statement  which 
comforted  M.  greatly,  as  she  was  engaged  at 
the  time  in  that  sinful  Sunday  occupation. 


IS 


I"  III  iriirininiinrm'T''"-~- — imni 


:•■ 


II 

CANNON   FIELD 

IN  Digby  the  temptation  to  sketch  is  con- 
stant, M.  says.  One  wants  to  be  at  it  all 
the  time.  There  are  a  few,  a  very  few 
picturesque  houses,  but  it  is  the  coast  it- 
self, the  queer  high  wharves,  the  fish-flakes,  the 
storehouses,  the  old  apple-trees  on  Cannon 
Field,  and  the  numberless  views  on  every 
hand  outside  the  village  that  appeal  to  one 
most. 

Cannon  Field  is  a  place  easy  to  be  discovered 
without  help,  but  it  does  not  detract  from  its 
merits  to  have  it  enthusiastically  pointed  out 
by  a  small  boy  whose  peculiar  anatomy  is  ex- 
plained when  he  proceeds  to  unload  from 
blouse  and  pockets  several  quarts  of  live  snails 
which  he  deposits  at  your  feet  that  he  may  the 
better  instruct  you  upon  the  topography  of 
Digby  and  criticise  your  sketch  of  a  neighbour- 
ing wharf.  The  small  boy  is  always  present 
when  one  sits  down  to  paint,  and  often  he  is 
not  unwelcome,  particularly  if  he  informs  his 

hearers,  as  this  one  did,  vvith  a  pride  quite  justi- 

i6 


'k    I 


Cannon  Field 


fiable,  if  the  statement  were  correct,  that  his 
father  owned  the  Baptist  Church  of  Boston. 

Cannon  Field  is  to  the  right  upon  coming 
up  from  the  wharf.  It  is  at  the  top  of  a  bluff 
whose  base  is  washed  by  the  sea  at  high  tide. 
It  is  but  an  open  grassy  field,  containing  a 
group  of  large  willows,  a  few  gnarled  old  apple 
and  cherry  trees,  half-a-dozen  defunct  cannon 
with  their  noses  in  the  ground,  and  two  living 
ones  with  their  noses  suspiciously  sniffing  the 
air  of  the  quiet  Basin. 

But  there  is  a  charm  about  it  that  makes  one 
go  again  and  again,  go  and  lie  on  the  grass  in 
the  warmth  of  the  sun  or  the  shade  of  the  wil- 
lows, and  look  off  over  the  beautiful  Annapolis 
Basin  with  its  one  narrow,  high-walled  entrance 
at  Digby  Gut. 

Perhaps,  as  you  lie  thus,  the  scattered  fisher- 
men's houses  on  the  other  shore  fade  from 
sight  and  the  vessels  in  the  Basin  melt  away, 
leaving  rock  and  water  and  dark  evergreen 
forest  in  possession.  Then,  perhaps,  two  small 
ships,  which  are  not  fishing  schooners  nor  any 
craft  that  sail  these  waters  to-day,  come  sailing 
through  the  Digby  Gut.  The  men  on  their 
decks  are  wary  and  eager.  Where  Digby  lies 
a  17 


m 

ml 
m 


r 


^npM 


SSBOi 


'  , 


(I 


'      I 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 

they  see  no  town,  only  the  scarred  rock  that 
holds  back  the  mighty  tides,  the  long  grass- 
grown  terrace  where  a  town  will  one  day  lie,  — 
a  town  of  aliens,  —  the  hill  behind  grown  thick 
with  firs ;  these  are  all  that  greet  their  eager 
eyes,  and  their  two  little  ships  sail  on  into  the 
lovely  land-locked  Basin. 

You  know  them  well.  They  are  the  French, 
who  scarcely  three  hundred  years  ago  ventured 
across  the  broad  Atlantic  in  those  little  ships 
of  theirs.  Through  Digby  Gut  they  came  one 
fair  spring  morning,  the  first  white  men  whose 
eyes  had  rested  on  those  shores.  In  they 
came,  the  advance  guard  of  civilisation  to  a 
new  piece  of  the  world. 

The  little  ships  sail  up  the  Basin  and  out  of 
sight  behind  a  wooded  island. 

So  much  for  the  dream  on  Caniion  Field. 
You  rub  your  eyes  and  look  about  you.  The 
Basin  is  dotted  over  with  boats ;  the  town  of 
Digby  lies  on  the  slopes  behind  you.  British 
guns  point  down  the  Basin  in  the  direction  the 
two  little  ships  have  gone.  But  they  are  safe. 
They  sailed  behind  that  island  almost  three 
hundred  years  ago.  The  British  guns  cannot 
touch  them  nor  can  aught  destroy  them :  they 

x8 


Cannon  Field 


of 


are  immortal,  preserved  in  the  history  of  three 
great  nations. 

Perhaps  the  tall  old  apple-trees  on  Cannon 
Field  were  placed  there  long  ago  by  French 
hands.  They  are  very  un-American  apple- 
trees  indeed,  and  one  is  inclined  to  question 
their  title  to  be  called  apple-trees  at  all,  until 
among  their  scattered  leaves  are  discovered 
unequivocal  it  not  tempting  apples. 

At  the  foot  of  the  bluff  is  the  deep  sea  basai 
where  the  water  rises  and  falls  from  twenty- 
eight  to  thirty  feet,  twice  each  day.  But  one 
does  not  realise  the  magnitude  of  the  tides  at 
this  point.  One  does  not  realise  it  at  all  at 
first.  The  flowing  of  the  tide  is  fast  but 
gradual :  the  mighty  basin  fills,  fills,  until  the 
tall  pier  is  an  ordinary  wharf,  with  no  hint  of 
a  hole  in  its  side,  and  a  broad  sheet  of  water 
smiles  and  sparkles  in  the  sun. 

Through  the  Gut  the  tides  come  racing  with 
frightful  velocity,  making  the  smaller  boats 
watchful  about  entering,  but  once  inside,  the 
waters  spread  without  much  commotion  and 
fill  the  great  Basin  to  its  brim. 

Swiftly  but  gradually  the  waters  subside,  the 
pier  grows  tall,  long  points  of  shining  gravel 

19 


V^i 


•imm' 


.,.J,,_,  |ijl,IB|lP^j|HJ 


PI 


t 


t 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 


reach  out  into  the  water.  With  its  seaweed- 
painted  rocks,  its  purple  shining  sands,  its 
bared  weirs,  the  coast  is  much  more  pictur- 
esque, though  less  impressive,  at  low  tide. 

Cannon  Field  is  a  place  to  dream  in.  Ro- 
mance and  history  have  woven  their  bright 
fabrics  before  its  very  eyes.  A  remnant  of 
those  Indians  who  fill  our  histories  in  that 
confusing  chapter  known  as  the  French  and 
Indian  Wars  have  their  tents  to  the  right  as 
one  faces  the  village,  at  the  end  of  a  little 
green  lane  that  borders  on  Cannon  Field. 
They  are  not  there  for  scalps  this  bright  sum- 
mer day,  but  for  bits  of  the  white  man's  magic 
silver,  which  they  hope  to  get  in  exchange  for 
the  baskets  and  moccasins  they  have  woven 
and  worked  upon  through  the  long  winter. 

There  is  a  pappoose  in  one  of  the  tents 
which  the  "American  "  ladies,  with  a  unanim- 
ity in  humour  which  one  hopes  is  not  national, 
all  inquire  the  price  of. 

Digby  houses  are  as  ugly  as  two-story 
wooden  cottages,  with  narrow  fa9ades  and 
steep  roofs,  must  be,  and  they  also  possess 
the  inartistic  virtues  of  cleanliness  and  new 
paint.     Few  Digby  houses  go  to  ruin  for  lack 


I 


Cannon  Field 


of  paint ;  consequently  the  town  has  a  very  new 
look,  and  presents  a  thrifty  and  well-to-do  ap- 
pearance as  exasperating  to  the  artist  as  it  is 
doubtless  gratifying  to  the  inhabitant.  But 
these  objectionable  dwellings  are  in  part  re- 
deemed by  their  flower-gardens. 

Fish-flakes  and  flowers  can  do  much  for  a 
place,  be  it  never  so  ugly,  and  in  Digby  there 
are  flowers  everywhere.  The  people  have  a 
pretty  way  of  putting  them  wherever  there  is 
a  place  to  hold  them.  One  sees  pots  of 
blooming  plants  in  the  cellar  windows  on  the 
main  street,  where  the  houses  add  to  their 
other  crimes  against  good  taste  that  of  open- 
ing directly  upon  the  sidewalk.  Flower-pots 
stand  on  brackets  on  the  side  of  the  house  and 
often  bank  up  two  sides  of  the  little  extended 
entry-way. 

It  is  pleasant  to  enter  a  house  between  walls 
of  flowers,  and  it  is  pleasant  to  stop  before  the 
yards  and  interview  the  tangles  of  poppies  and 
pinks  and  all  sorts  of  bright  and  spicy  flower- 
folk  that  do  congregate  in  those  places. 

Digby  flowers  appear  to  grow  for  the  mere 
joy  of  it,  they  are  so  bright  and  spicy,  and 
crowd  out  the  weeds  with  such  vigour,  some- 
ax 


t^i 


'is 


m 


\i 


If 


H^W 


-"W 


^JJ.JJJJL«lllia!IU^P»^^^ 


: 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 

times  overflowing  the  garden  and  straggling 
out  to  the  roadside.  They  remind  one  of 
Celia  Thaxter's  flowers  at  the  light-house  on 
the  Isles  of  Shoals,  seeming  to  have  the  same 
qualities  of  brilliancy  and  fragrance. 

A  house  without  flowers  is  the  rare  excep- 
tion in  Digby.  They  give  character  to  the 
place  and  rob  the  cheap  frame  buildings  of 
half  their  ugliness,  and  occasionally  they  make 
one  charming.  There  is  a  delightful  old  gar- 
den almost  surrounding  a  tiny  house,  f?cing 
Cannon  Field.  The  house  itself  is  covered 
with  vines  which  are  vastly  more  becoming 
than  paint,  and  into  the  garden  seem  to  have 
come  all  the  sweet  old-fashioned  posies  from 
long  ago  to  now. 

It  is  a  pleasure  to  sauntei  over  from  Can- 
non Field  and  lean  on  the  low  fence,  behind 
which  is  such  profusion  of  bloom.  The  back 
yard,  too,  is  a  flower-garden,  sharing  the  pre- 
cious soil  with  the  plum-trees  and  gooseberry 
bushes. 

If  fruits  and  vegetables  were  to  flourish  in 
Digby  soil  as  the  flowers  do,  the  cod  would 
have  a  formidable  rival,  but  the  stern  earth 
yields  its  juices  freely  to  only  the  coaxing  root- 

32 


^ 


Cannon  Field 


lets  of  its  favourites,  the  flowers,  and  the  people 
have  to  send  elsewhere  for  their  cabbages. 
We  thank  the  earth  for  this :  fish-flakes  and 
flowers  belong  to  Digby ;  cabbages  belong 
to  anybody. 

Digby  has  cherries,  however.  The  place  is 
full  of  gnarled  old  trees,  and  there  are  orchards 
of  them  in  the  country  round  about. 

If  Digby  had  picturesque  houses,  it  would  be 
almost  too  charming  a  spot  for  the  visitor.  It 
has  two  or  three.  They  are  to  be  found 
on  the  Racquet,  an  inlet  running  in  along  one 
side  of  the  town.  They  are  little  gray,  wide- 
roofed,  old  fisherman*s  houses,  guiltless  of  paint 
and  very  much  the  worse  for  wear.  Digby  no 
doubt  is  ashamed  of  them,  and  they  must  be 
very  uncomfortable  to  live  in,  but  with  their 
tall  hollyhocks,  their  clustering  fish-flakes,  the 
background  of  water,  and  the  distant  mountain- 
top,  they  make  distracting  pictures. 

Behind  them  are  the  wharves  where  the  fish- 
ing-schooners come  in  to  leave  their  burdens 
of  cod.  The  ships  sail  up  the  Racquet  in  gal- 
lant style.  It  is  a  pretty  sheet  of  water,  with 
its  curving  shore-line  and  its  background  of 
Reaman's  Mountain  ;  and  one  never  would  sus- 

23 


;i; 


A 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 

pect,  after  watching  the  laden  vessels  enter, 
that  the  haven  they  have  sought  is  there  for 
but  a  few  hours  at  a  time,  by  the  grace  of 
Neptune. 

The  Racquet,  like  many  another  bay  along 
this  coast,  is  a  gift  of  the  giant  tides  of  Fundy. 
When  the  tide  goes  out,  the  ships  lie  on  their 
keels  in  the  gravel,  and  the  hard  bed  of  the 
Racquet  becomes  an  excellent  roadway  for  teams 
that  wish  to  reach  the  other  shore. 

In  the  morning  one  may  cross  the  Racquet 
dry-shod;  in  the  afternoon  laden  vessels  will 
sail  over  his  footprints. 

There  are  no  weirs  in  the  Racquet ;  but  if 
one  desire  those  fantastic  forms,  let  him  walk 
to  the  farther  end  of  the  town  through  its  one 
long  street,  and  there  he  will  come  upon  the 
broad  and  winding  Joggin.  It  is  another  tidal 
basin,  but  the  receding  waters  do  not  lay  it 
bare.  Into  it  the  fish  come  in  shoals  with  the 
coming  of  the  water,  but  at  the  going  out  of 
the  water  they  remain,  for  the  weirs  have  their 
long  arms  about  them. 

These  weirs  are  distinguished  among  their 
kind  by  their  simplicity.  The  fisherman  does 
not  lavish  costly  nets  upon  them,  as  is  the  case 

»4 


Cannon  Field 


along  the  New  England  shore.  He  simply 
drives  poles  close  together  into  the  mud  at  low 
tide,  about  them  weaves  the  pliant  branches  of 
trees  in  and  out  into  a  rude  network,  and  to 
the  top  of  the  poles  ties  brushwood  to  mark 
the  place  of  the  weirs  at  high  tide. 

These  primitive  fish-snares  seem  to  have  no 
definite  form,  but  straggle  about  here,  there,  and 
everywhere ;  and  the  Joggin,  with  its  purple 
sands  and  grassy  banks  and  its  weirs  trailing 
reflections  in  the  water,  is  a  place  one  loves  to 
recall. 

It  is  a  gratification  to  be  able  to  chronicle 
the  fact  that  in  addition  to  her  other  virtues 
simple  Digby  is  still  in  the  ox-cart  period. 
And  this,  despite  the  "  Flying  Bluenose  "  that 
daily  goes  shrieking  over  the  rails  that  have 
been  laid  in  her  streets.  It  is  oxen  that  unload 
the  vessels  and  do  the  hard  work  on  the  roads, 
and  oxen  that  bring  the  country  people  to 
town. 

Oxen  exhale  a  pastoral  something  that  affects 
all  their  neighbourhood.  Go  gee-hawing 
down  Broadway  with  a  yoke  of  oxen  attached 
to  a  broad-tired  cart,  and  New  York  herself 
would  remember  the  days    of  her  childhood, 

25 


I  fi 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 

when  Canal  Street  deserved  its  name  even 
more  than  at  present,  when  the  buxom  milk- 
maid filled  her  foaming  pail  in  the  Bowery. 
Digby  is  a  clean,  wind-blown,  beflowered,  and 
beflaked  little  fishing  village,  but  when  along 
her  streets  the  ox-carts  go  rumbling  and  sham- 
bling, she  becomes  something  more ;  she  has  a 
part  in  the  fields  and  the  grassy  lanes  as  well 
as  in  the    salt  sea. 

Digby  oxen  have  none  of  the  coyness  and 
head-turnings  common  to  their  "  American  ** 
kindred.  They  are  apparently  as  unconcerned 
and  stolid  at  the  approach  of  a  stranger  as  was 
the  blind  starfish  in  the  cavern  under  the  wharf. 
They  turn  their  heads  neither  to  the  right  nor 
to  the  left  when  in  the  yoke,  but  face  front  as 
unswervingly  as  if  on  military  parade.  Their 
eyes,  which  roll  in  the  direction  of  the  one 
approaching,  alone  betray  the  curiosity  natural 
to  their  race.  They  have  an  un-oxlike  dig- 
nity and  precision  of  movement,  which  is 
rather  impressive,  and  which  is  not  wholly 
owing  to  the  superior  character  of  Nova  Scotia 
cattle,  for  their  ingenious  masters  have  placed 
the  yoke  upon  their  heads  instead  of  about 
their  necks. 

26 


f. 


Cannon  Field 


A  broad  bar  of  wood  lies  across  the  necks 
just  behind  the  horns  about  which  it  fits  closely. 
It  is  held  in  place  by  strong  leather  straps  bound 
tightly  across  the  foreheads  just  below  the 
horns.  "When  oxen  are  thus  yoked,  their 
heads  are  almost  as  immovable  as  if  held  in 
a  vise.  The  tongue  of  the  cart,  which  is  at- 
tached to  the  bar  between  the  oxen,  is  held 
very  high,  on  a  level  with  or  even  higher  than 
the  eyes.  It  is  amusing  to  see  this  head-gear 
adjusted.  In  order  sufficiently  to  tighten  the 
straps,  the  man  must  have  some  point  of  re- 
sistance, and  this  he  finds  in  the  face  of  the  ox 
himself  He  braces  his  knee  against  the  broad 
and  kindly  front  of  his  comrade  and  Hes  back 
on  the  strap  with  all  his  weight.  The  ox  blinks 
calmly  on  and  says  not  a  word.  In  spite  of 
his  queer  head-gear  the  Nova  Scotia  ox  an- 
swers to  the  same  lingo  as  does  his  "  Ameri- 
can "  brother,  and  the  familiar  "  gee,  haw, 
back,  g*  long,"  may  be  heard  mingling  with 
the  tinkle  of  his  bell  any  hour  of  the  day  in 
Digby. 

For  each  ox  has  his  bell.  It  is  an  agreeable 
bell  with  a  pleasant  tinkle-tankle,  and  rather 
an  expensive  luxury,  a  pair  of  bells  and  their 

37 


i     (1 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 

straps  costing  three  dollars  and  a  half,  so  the 
owner  of  an  ox  told  us. 

The  DIgby  ox  has  not  quite  "  bells  on  his 
fingers  and  rings  on  his  toes,  by  which  he 
makes  music  wherever  he  goes,"  as  was  the 
case  with  the  young  person  in  the  nursery 
rhyme,  but  he  has  a  bell  on  his  neck  and  a 
little  metal  shoe  on  each  of  his  toes,  by  which 
he  makes  as  good  music  wandering  about  the 
stony  byways  in  his  hours  of  freedom  as  one 
frequently  hears  from  more  elaborate  instru- 
ments. At  least,  it  is  never  out  of  time  or  out 
of  tune. 

One  need  not  fear  meeting  our  friend,  for  he 
is  the  gentlest  ox  in  the  world ;  much  hand- 
ling has  made  him  that.  He  has  lost  the  tra- 
dition of  horns  as  weapons,  and  looks  upon 
them  only  as  a  convenience  for  moving  heavy 
loads  for  other  people. 

Besides  the  ox-teams  there  ar^,  the  horses 
drawing  their  low-swung  trucks.  If  the  Nova 
Scotian  has  invented  his  head  yoke,  he  has  cer- 
tainly borrowed  his  truck  from  his  brother  the 
"  American,"  or  is  it  vice  versa  ?  for  it  is  the 
same  convenient  means  of  transportation  the 
Cape    Cod    man   employs.     The    bottom    of 

28 


orses 
^ova 
cer- 
the 
the 
the 
of 


Ox  WITH  Head  Yoke 


V 


mmm 


I 


[ , 

:! 

-i- 

i 
1 

I 

i 

i 

m 

Cannon  Field 


the  cart  is  so  swung  from  the  hubs  that  it  is 
only  four  or  five  inches  from  the  ground,  sav- 
ing a  great  deal  of  strength,  one  should  think, 
in  loading  and  unloading.  One  wonders  why 
the  Yankee  has  not  made  more  use  of  this 
idea,  and  why  one  does  not  see  it  in  the  flat 
prairie  towns  of  the  West. 

What  is  the  law  that  decrees  certain  imple- 
ments and  customs  to  be  retained  within  cer- 
tain limits  ?  Why  does  the  farmer  in  one 
Rhode  Island  county  rake  his  hay  as  his  fore- 
fathers were  wont,  and  in  three  adjoining  ones 
gather  it  speedily  by  means  of  a  long  rope  ? 
Why  does  the  low-swung  truck,  local  to  Cape 
Cod,  crop  out  again  in  Nova  Scotia  ? 

There  is  a  tremendous  vis  inertia  in  human 
affairs  that  preserves  the  individuality  of  places 
in  spite  of  the  levelling  power  of  the  "  new 
civilisation."  Blessings  on  it!  Long  may 
it  preserve  Digby's  dusty  fish-flakes  and  her 
military  oxen  with  tHeir  tinkling  bells  ! 

It  would  not  do  to  leave  Digby  without 
making  the  acquaintance  of  the  famous  "  Digby 
chickens."  These  are  not  feathered  bipeds,  but 
good  red  herrings.  They  are  large  and  oily, 
and  their  smoked  skins  are  a  beautiful  golden 

29 


m 


I 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 

*       ■ ■    ' '— -        — ■■,—,.--■■-      II        ■  ^ 

bronze,  played  over  by  bright,  iridescent  hues. 
To  give  an  idea  of  these  when  properly  "  kip- 
pered "  would  excite  u:  3  envy  in  the  hearts 
of  all  who  grasped  the  idea.  These  favoured 
fish  are  called  "  Digby  angels  "  in  other  towns 
of  Nova  Scotia,  but  it  is  to  be  feared  this  is 
due  to  a  spirit  of  mockery  engendered  by 
jealousy. 

Reluctantly  we  prepared  to  leave  Digby,  and 
one  morning  found  ourselves  on  the  "  Flying 
Bluenose,"  and  speeding  along  the  Annapolis 
Basin  in  the  direction  the  two  little  ships  had 
sailed  so  long  ago. 

"  Bluenose"  in  Nov^  cotia  is  equivalent  to 
"  Yankee  "  in  New  England.  The  derivation  of 
"  Yankee  "  is  uncertain,  —  nobody  knows  exactly 
where  it  came  from,  nor  who  invented  and  first 
applied  it ;  consequently  there  is  a  pleasant  mys- 
tery about  it  which  enables  us  to  forget  its 
plebeian  sound  and  even  to  feel  proud  of  any 
claim  to  the  title. 

But  there  is  no  reclaiming  haze  of  mystery 
about  the  meaning  of  "Bluenose,"  though  the 
Bluenoses  themselves  are  frequently  unable, 
or  possibly  ashamed,  to  explain  it.  One  old 
v»'oman  told    us   it    came  from    the  "  Flying 

30 


\^\ 


Cannon  Field 


Bluenose."  But  her  daughter  explained,  look- 
ing askance  at  us,  as  though  to  make  sure  we 
were  serious  in  our  desire  for  information, 
"  You  ought  to  see  us  in   November !  " 

It  seems  there  is  a  "  Flying  Yankee"  train 
on  the  "  American  "  side ;  and  Nova  Scotia,  not 
to  be  outdone  by  "  them  Yanks,"  started  the 
"  Flying  Bluenose  "  on  her  side,  which  was  not 
strictly  original,  though  it  is  considered  com- 
mendable, as  the  "  Flying  Bluenose  "  is  a  very 
good  express  train,  running  all  the  way  from 
Yarmouth,  on  the  western  point  of  Nova  Scotia, 
to  Halifax,  a  couple  of  hundred  miles  away  as 
the  road  runs. 

Next  to  originality  is  the  power  to  know  a 
good  thing  when  it  is  seen,  and  then  to  imi- 
tate it. 

The  "  Flying  Bluenose "  crossed  the  high 
bridge  just  out  of  Digby  and  bore  us  toward 
one  of  the  most  interesting  historic  spots  in 
North  America. 

It  is  the  spot  where  the  two  French  ships 
came  to  anchor,  bringing  the  first  white  settlers 
to  a  new  world.  The  place  is  called  Annapolis 
now,  though  at  its  founding  in  1605  '^  ^^^^ 
the  name  of  Port  Royal,  and  is,  as  every  one 

31 


4 


'   w>WV-t    .(».—*-»    •--.•>.-1.-«,»'«fc-« 


i 


.7 


)■  'i 


•  i  'i 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 

m        I ■-  I-  ■' ■  ■■■■  ~  "^  ■■  11-.—^ 

knows,  next  to  St.  Augustine  the  oldest  Euro- 
pean settlement  in  North  America.  It  seemed 
a  pity  to  go  h^^rrying  by  it  when  we  saw  the 
lovely  meadows  sloping  to  the  town,  their  yel- 
lows, greens,  browns,  and  reds  mingling  in  a 
half  summer,  half  autumn  mood. 

The  grass-grown  earthworks  were  inviting, 
too,  and  the  old  gray  stone  magazine  standing 
in  the  centre  gave  an  air  of  antiquity  to  the 
place.  The  water  was  out,  and  the  red  and 
brown  sands  on  the  shores  of  the  Annapolis 
Basin  lay  exposed,  adding  their  charm  of  colour 
to  the  scene. 

But  we  were  to  see  no  more  of  Annapolis 
than  the  glimpse  from  the  train.  M.  was 
afraid  to.  She  wished  to  preserve  the  romance 
and  mystery  with  which  her  imagination  had 
enveloped  it ;  and  having  recently  lost  the  life- 
long mystery  of  the  Bay  of  Fundy  by  too 
great  familiarity  with  that  cheery  and  in  no 
way  mysterious  body  of  water,  she  felt  that 
she  could  not  afford  the  risk  of  depleting 
the  storehouse  of  her  imagination  any  farther 
at  present. 

So  we  went  on,  imagining  Port  Royal  as  it 
was  when  in  possession  of  the  French,  smoking 

32 


i\ 


Cannon  Field 


their  lobster-claw  pipes ;  and  in  spite  of  their 
precarious  tenure  of  home  and  life  in  a  country 
of  savages,  revelling  through  that  winter  of 
long  ago  and  instituting  the  Order  of  the  Good 
Time.  They  had  their  fun,  but  \t  did  not  last, 
for  enemies  in  the  mother  country  as  well  as 
from  abroad  quickly  shifted  the  actors  from  one 
scene  to  another ;  and  out  of  the  confusion  of 
'.he  times  there  stands  clearly  but  one  poetic 
form,  that  of  a  woman,  Madame  La  Tour. 
Perhaps  she  does  not  belong  specially  to  Port 
Royal,  but  she  does  belong  to  the  history  of 
that  time ;  and  by  her  heroic  deeds  has  earned 
a  place  in  the  memory  of  man,  —  a  place  which 
will  be  recognised  when  her  poet  arises  to  sing 
her  into  fame.  She  stands  waiting,  a  dim  fig- 
ure, for  the  Longfellow  who  shall  take  her  by 
the  hand  and  place  her  glowing  in  the  eyes  and 
the  hearts  of  the  people. 

The  Annapolis  River,  which  enters  the  head 
of  the  Basin,  owes  the  greater  part  of  its  vol- 
ume to  the  tide-water.  Its  channel  is  deep  and 
gullied,  as  seen  at  low  tide,  and  its  banks  are 
composed  of  sleek,  shining  mud  that,  half  the 
time  uncovered,  yet  never  has  time  to  dry.  As 
we  follow  its  course  we  see  the  ships  lying 
3  33 


i 


r\ 


l1i'BMI.,aitfrl>iWlfcH 


) 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 


high  up  on  the  mud  banks,  miles  from  water 
enough  to  float  them. 

One  dropping  suddenly  down  upon  this 
strange  sight  might  well  wonder  if  the  days  of 
magic  were  gone,  or  if  this  withdrawal  of  the 
waters  was  a  freak  of  some  revengeful  gnome. 
A  few  hours,  however,  redeems  the  river.  In- 
credible as  it  seems,  the  water  comes  hastening 
in,  up  the  long  miles,  until  the  deep  gullies  are 
full  rivers  and  the  ships  are  afloat  and  able  to 
sail  wherever  they  choose. 

As  one  follows  up  the  Annapolis  Valley, 
North  Mountain  stretches  its  long  low  range 
against  the  sky  at  the  left,  while  South  Moun- 
tain runs  parallel  to  it,  but  lower  and  more 
broken,  at  the  right. 

The  Annapolis  Basin  lies  long  and  narrow 
between  the  two  low  mountain  ranges,  and  at 
its  head  receives  the  Annapolis  River,  which 
flows  through  the  northern  part  of  the  valley, 
its  course  extending  in  the  same  general  direc- 
tion as  that  of  the  Basin,  making  the  latter 
seem  like  a  sudden  expansion  of  the  river. 

As  we  finally  left  the  river  we  passed  over 
the  low  water-shed  that  separates  the  Annapolis 
from  the  Cornwallis  Valley.     The  Annapolis 

34 


' 


Cannon  Field 


River  flows  to  the  southwest,  the  rivers  of 
the  Cornwallis  Valley  to  the  northeast. 

As  we  crossed  the  water-shed  we  entered  a 
new  world  of  history  and  romance.  The  con- 
fused events  that  cluster  about  Port  Royal  gave 
way  to  the  sinij)le  peace  of  the  Acadians,  —  that 
sense  of  peace  which  even  their  sad  expulsion 
cannot  quite  drive  from  our  hearts. 

As  we  crossed  that  little  rise  of  ground  we 
neared  the  dike-lands  of  the  Acadians  and  the 
home  of  Evangeline. 


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III 
ACADIA 

ACADIA  is  the  original  French  name 
for  Nova  Scotia.  It  is  said  to  come 
from  the  Indian  ca^ie  or  kadi,  which 
means  "  abounding  in,"  and  is  often 
found  as  an  affix  in  the  names  of  places,  as,  for 
instance,  Shubenacadie,  "  abounding  in  ground- 
nuts," and  the  euphonious  and  simple  Ap- 
chechkumoochwakadi,  "abounding  in  black 
ducks." 

While  "  Acadia "  was  in  a  general  way- 
applied  to  the  whole  of  Nova  Scotia,  to 
most  minds  it  now  has  a  more  restricted 
meaning. 

We  think  of  it  as  that  Utopia  where  Long- 
fellow's Evangeline  lived  and  loved,  and  whence 
her  people  were  driven  forth.  It  is  a  land  of 
poetry,  reclaimed  from  the  sea  by  the  dikes  of 
the  old  Acadian  farmers,  and  by  the  traveller  is 
looked  for  in  what  is  known  as  the  Cornwallis 
Valley. 

Poetry  often  vanishes  in  the  presence  of  the 
reality,  and  one's  first  thought  upon  entering 

36 


/■ 


Acadia 


the  Cornwallis  Valley  is  very  likely  of  the  im- 
proved appearance  of  the  apples,  for  along  the 
line  of  the  railroad  they  are  small  and  unin- 
viting, until  the  obscure  line  of  water-shed  that 
separates  the  Annapolis  and  Cornwallis  Valleys 
has  been  crossed,  when  a  notable  change  for 
the  better  comes  over  the  orchards. 

It  was  a  pleasant,  pastoral  land  through 
which  the  "  Flying  Bluenose  "  hurried  us,  but 
for  some  distance  there  was  nothing  remarkable 
about  it,  for  we  noticed  no  dikes  until  we 
changed  cars  at  Kentville  and  were  bounced 
along  the  little  branch  road  that  leads  to  Kings- 
port,  which  is  situated  on  Minas  Basin. 

W^e  did  not  go  as  far  as  Kingsport  at  this 
time,  however,  but  stopped  a  mile  short  of  there 
at  Canning,  a  small  village  with  its  one  long 
street  lined  on  the  river-side  by  straggling 
shops  of  a  moribund  aspect.  Large  trees  and 
ample  dooryards  give  Canning  a  pleasant  and 
home-like  look,  and  at  the  rear  of  the  shops 
the  Habitant  River  rolls  restlessly  back  and 
forth. 

The  Habitant  is  a  tidal  stream,  all  that  is 
left  of  a  once  mighty  flood  that  brought  large 
ships  to  Canning's  wharves.     Where  once  the 

37 


lii 


■I 


'' 


i 


1  \ 


^i 


^    m 


] 


:  i 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 

waters  spread  are  level  plains  of  great  fertility, 
for  the  spade  of  the  dike-maker  has  been  at 
work,  and  the  chastened  Habitant  is  now  a 
narrow  stream,  its  winding  course  bordered  by 
a  narrow  green  embankment  that  in  the  dis- 
tance looks  like  a  line  of  raised  embroidery 
traversing  some  gigantic  pattern.  Beyond  the 
Habitant  lie  the  reclaimed  meadow-lands  now 
dotted  with  haystacks. 

Beyond  the  meadows  is  a  lovely  stretch  of 
highlands,  the  termination  of  South  Mountain. 
This  was  our  first  view  of  the  dike-lands,  and 
it  took  some  time  to  realise  the  magnitude  of 
what  has  been  accomp.ished.  In  fact,  it  cannot 
be  understood  at  this  point. 

The  Habitant  is  a  deep  gully  of  red  and 
shining  mud  as  we  saw  it  at  low  tide.  Two 
or  three  small  sail-boats  were  lying  up  high 
and  dry  on  its  rim.  There  was  but  a  thread 
of  muddy  water  stealing  seaward,  along  the 
bottom  of  the  gully,  soon  to  be  met  and 
turned  back  by  the  incoming  tide  of  Minas 
Basin,  that  twice  every  day  fills  the  doomed 
Habitant,  at  its  departure  leaving  another 
layer  of  the  red  ooze  which  is  slowly  but 
surely  obliterating  the  channel  of  the  river. 

38 


>1 

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Acadia 


Four  miles  from  Canning,  on  a  commanding 
spur  of  North  Mountain,  is  an  open  space 
called  Look  Off.  This  is  one  of  the  best 
points  from  which  to  view  the  dike-lands,  and 
thither  we  went  one  fair  day. 

North  Mountain  nowhere  attains  an  alti- 
tude of  more  than  six  hundred  feet,  which 
scarcely  entitles  it  to  the  name  of  mountain. 
Yet  the  view  from  Look  Off  is  more  impres- 
sive than  many  a  scene  beheld  from  a  higher 
point. 

North  Mountain  rises  abruptly  from  the 
plain,  so  that  the  wide  vista  of  the  Cornwallis 
Valley  lay  a  vast,  fair  scene  before  us.  We 
looked  down  upon  the  far-reaching  dike-lands 
of  the  old  Acadian  farmers,  the  scene  of  the 
tragedy  and  romance  of  their  lives,  the  fair 
meadows  they  had  stolen  bit  by  bit  from  the 
sea  an  imperishable  memorial  of  their  labors. 

Minas  Basin,  like  the  beautiful  Annapolis 
Basin,  is  an  inlet  from  the  Bay  of  Fundy.  It 
forms  the  northern  boundary  to  the  Cornwallis 
Valley ;  and  as  the  tides  come  in,  higher  even 
than  those  in  the  Annapolis  Basin,  they  flood 
the  low  lands  and  race  up  the  river  channels 


ror  many  mi 


les. 


39 


It       31     . 

IP  K'^^^ 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 

Three  tidal  rivers  traverse  the  length  of  the 
Cornwallis  Valley,  —  the  Habitant,  which  was 
the  nearest  to  us,  and  was  seen  here  and  there 
like  a  ribbon  of  silver ;  the  Canard,  of  which 
we  could  catch  glimpses ;  and  the  Cornwallis, 
farthest  away  and  largest  of  all,  from  which 
the  whole  valley  gets  its  name. 

These  rivers  empty  into  a  v,ide  bay  or  lagoon 
that  encroaches  upon  the  northern  border  of 
the  Cornwallis  Valley.  At  high  tide  this  bay 
is  a  sheet  of  water ;  at  low  tide  the  red  sands 
are  bare  half-way  to  Minas,  and  are  interspersed 
with  blue  pools  and  interrupted  by  the  shining 
mouths  of  the  three  rivers  that  wind  down  to 
the  sea. 

The  channels  of  the  rivers  are  deep  and  nar- 
row, and  wherever  they  go  through  the  fertile 
valley  the  patient  dikes  accompany  them, 
winding  and  turning  with  the  winding  and 
turning  of  the  rivers,  unbroken  banks  of  green 
grass,  frail  enough  to  look  at  when  one  thinks 
of  their  mission,  yet  trusted  sentinel;?  lo  keep 
back  the  water  until  even  Fundy's  mighty  rush 
has  been  conquered,  and  the  diked  rivers  are 
slowly  being  silted  full  and  themselves  help  to 
form  a  barrier  against  the  incoming  tides. 

40 


Acadia 


Much  of  the  northern  part  of  the  Cornwallis 
Valley,  which  for  many  miles  is  mostly  low- 
land, and  was  originally  salt  marsh,  has  been 
reclaimed  from  the  sea,  and  in  many  places  the 
farm-land  still  lies  below  high-water  mark. 

The  reclaimed  land  has  not  been  the  work 
of  a  moment  nor  of  a  generation.  The  valley 
we  see  to-day  is  not  the  valley  the  Acadians 
first  looked  upon,  nor  yet  the  valley  from 
which  they  were  finally  expelled.  Their  suc- 
cessors have  as  steadily  plied  the  diking  spade 
as  they  did  themselves,  and  the  work  of  re- 
claiming new  land  is  still  going  on  wherever 
opportunity  offers.  The  breaking  of  a  dike 
means  inundation  and  devastation  to  the  land 
with  a  loss  of  two  or  three  years'  crops,  as  it 
takes  the  earth  that  long  to  recover  from  the 
taste  of  the  salt  water. 

Standing  on  Look  Off  we  saw  the  general 
outlines  of  the  valley  as  it  is  to-day,  and  saw, 
too,  in  a  large  way,  the  method  of  its  emer- 
gence from  the  bottom  of  the  sea.  For  winding 
here  and  there  were  gently  rounded  gullies 
down  which  now  ran  streams  of  trees  and 
bushes,  but  which  once  were  water-courses 
where    the   retreating   tides   drained    back    to 

41 


\\ 


i 


T 


^/l 


Jl 


11: 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 

Minas.  Little  by  little  the  dikes  encroached 
upon  the  sea,  cutting  off  first  one,  then  another 
of  these  tidal  streams,  until  only  their  forms 
are  now  left  to  tell  the  story  of  what  they 
once  were. 

The  Cornwallis  Valley  was  aglow  with 
colour  the  day  we  saw  it  from  Look  Off,  — 
yellow  stubble  of  oats  and  barley  mingled  with 
patches  of  bright  red  and  of  vivid  green  where 
vegetables  were  growing,  while  apple  orchards 
everywhere  lent  their  dark  green,  and  clumps 
of  firs  added  their  black  to  the  scene. 

Scattered  about  were  villages  nearly  hidden 
by  trees,  while  detached  houses  looked  like  toys 
in  the  fields.  Canning's  spires  showed  over 
her  tree-tops,  and  Kingsport  lay  in  full  view 
on  the  shore  of  Minas  Basin. 

In  the  distance,  beyond  the  shine  of  the 
Cornwallis  River,  lay  Grand  Pre,  the  scene  of 
the  Great  Expulsion,  the  home  of  Evangeline, 
the  central  point  of  interest  for  all  that  region. 
We  looked  at  the  blur  ^'^  ^^  distant  hillside 
which  we  were  told  v  Pre,  with  a  rush 

of  emotion.  ..        mei      the  poetry  and 

romance  of  the  ,ist  re  .aced  the  prose  of  the 
present.     But  our  th   ughts  soon  returned  to 

42 


Acadia 

the  actual  scene  before  us :  the  opening  of  the 
five  rivers  was  a  fairy  picture,  so  dainty  was 
the  blue  and  green  of  the  water  against  the 
faint  red  sands. 

For  the  three  tidal  rivers  are  not  all  the 
rivers  we  see  from  our  high  place.  From 
behind  a  long  point  of  land  in  the  distance 
over  by  Grand  Pre  shines  the  silvery  mouth 
of  the  Gaspereaux,  which  flows  through  a 
valley  of  the  same  name  behind  the  high- 
land that  far  away  looks  so  blue,  and  the 
broad  mouth  of  the  Avon  makes  up  like  a 
wide  bay  into  the  distant  land. 

At  our  very  feet  is  the  valley  of  the  Pereau. 
But  where  is  the  river  Pereau  ?  It  is  where  the 
Habitant  and  the  Canard  will  one  day  be ; 
for  where  once  a  tidal  river  guided  the  waters 
back  to  the  sea  are  now  green  meadows. 

The  Pereau  has  been  diked  down  to  within 
an  inch  of  its  life  and  within  a  mile  of  the  sea. 
This  broad  little  mile-long  river  has  a  pretty 
curved  dike  across  its  head.  It  cannot  reach 
above  the  dike,  and  it  can  hardly  reach  to  it, 
for  this  stern  dike  has  not  only  cut  off  all 
advance,  but  is  the  cause  of  the  filling  in  of 
what  little  of  the  river  is  left.     And  one  day 

43 


1 
( 


I 


f 


ff 


1 


Down  North  and  Up  yi long 

they  will  bniUl  w  dike  yet  lower,  and  then 
fttiothcr  and  another,  until  the  IVrcau  Kivcr, 
like  the  Acavhans  themselves,  will  he  hut  a 
name.  It  is  very  pretty  at  the  month  of  the 
Pcreaii.  Kck\  dill's  staml  out  in  the  water  free 
from  the  mainland,  and  what  banks  the  river 
has  left  are  steep  and   red. 

The  shores  of  Minas  arc  steep,  and  are  evi- 
dently the  sourec  from  which  the  dike-lands 
have  received  their  fertile  soil.  The  red  rocks 
of  the  ct)ast  have  been  reduced  hy  the  irresist- 
ible force  of  the  water  to  the  red  nuui  of  the 
fields.  'I'he  tide  for  ages  has  swept  in,  turbid 
with  particles  of  the  rocks  it  has  ground  to 
powder,  at\il  as  its  waters  ilrained  slowlv  back 
to  the  sea,  red  mud  has  been  left  on  the  plains 
and  in  the  rivers. 

There  is  talk  of  building  a  monster  dike 
across  the  mouth  of  the  lagoon  into  which  the 
three  tidal  riv^crs  empty,  thus  reclaiming  a  vast 
tract  of  land  at  one  effort.  If  this  is  done, 
good-bye  to  the  Habitant,  the  Canard,  and  the 
CornwalHs.  They  would  be  in  worse  plight 
than  the  Pereau  is  now,  for  there  won  hi  not 
be  so  much  as  a  trace  of  their  turbid  tide- 
waters left     It  would  be  a  pity  to  obliterate 


Acadia 

fc^ — - — — . — — . 1 .   ■ 

these  rivers.  (>uecr  gushes  iiv  the  soil  with 
their  strcjims  constiiiitly  turncci  i)y  the  god- 
dess who  rules  the  tides,  Aeauia  would  not 
be  Aeiuliji  without  them. 

7'hink  of  h.'iving  to  consult  the  almanac  or 
look  out  of  the  window  to  see  whether  the 
river  that  flows  through  your  town  happens 
to  be  running  up  stream  or  down,  or  not  at 
all  1  Yet  this  is  what  the  dweller  in  Acadia 
nuist  do  when  he  wishes  to  float  his  boat. 

Fortunately  for  the  I  labitant,  the  Canard, 
and  the  Cornwallis,  there  is  a  good  deal  of 
red  tape  involved  in  building  a  new  dike,  so 
they  may  breathe  freely  for  yet  a  time.  May 
they  long  continue  to  run  uphill,  then  run 
down,  then  run  dry,  in  their  present  agreeable 
fashion!  Not  all  of  them  run  dry,  however; 
some  have  a  fresh-water  stream  of  their  own  ; 
and  where  this  is  the  case  they  can  never  be 
diked  wholly  out  of  existence. 

We  had  noticed  very  little  wild  life  of  any 
kind  in  Nova  Scotia.  Hirds  there  may  be  in 
the  spring,  but  at  this  time  their  forms  were 
seldom  seen.  The  most  noticeable  creatures 
were  small  grasshoppers  with  large  ideas  of 
the  value  of  noise.     Each  appeared  to  be  pos- 

45 


'i 


;;  1 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 

sessed  of  an  indestructible  pair  of  clappers 
upon  which  it  played  a  resounding  rat-tat-tat 
at  short  intervals.  They  started  from  under 
our  feet  at  Digby  and  fled  from  before  us  at 
Look  Off 

It  was  some  time  before  we  could  really 
believe  the  loud  and  regular  rattle  came  from 
such  tiny  performers.  We  should  have  liked 
to  see  them  working  their  clappers,  but  could 
not  catch  them  at  it,  nor  catch  them  at  all,  they 
were  so  overloaded  with  suspicion,  and  when 
v/e  were  yet  far  away  scurried  off  rat-tatting  to 
yet  safer  distances. 

It  was  on  sunny  Look  Off  that  we  made  our 
first  and  ordy  acquaintance  'vith  Nova  Scotia 
bees.  While  lying  on  the  ground  we  had 
noticed  a  distinct  odour  of  honey,  for  which 
we  could  not  account,  as  there  were  no  flowers 
near. 

At  first  too  full  of  the  beauties  of  the  Corn- 
wallis  Valley  to  see  anything  else,  we  finally 
noticed  numbers  of  tiny  gray  gauzy-winged  bees 
flying  about  and  hovering  over  the  ground  near 
us.  The  ground  was  perforated  in  all  direc- 
tions with  round  holes  into  which  here  and  there 

a  bee  disappeared,  her  hindmost  legs  laden  with 

46 


Acadia 


balls  of  bright  yellow  pollen.  It  soon  dawned 
upon  us  that  we  were  lying  at  our  ease  upon  a 
colony  of  bees*  nests,  —  a  position  more  novel 
than  assuring.  The  bees  did  not  offer  to  sting 
us,  although  we  were  sadly  interfering  with  their 
domestic  duties  by  covering  up  their  holes. 

As  soon  as  we  realised  the  state  of  affairs,  we 
departed  in  as  orderly  a  manner  as  was  com- 
patible with  extreme  haste.  Curiosity,  how- 
ever, compelled  us  to  dig  out  one  of  the  holes. 
The  little  hole  went  down  for  some  distance  in 
a  straight  line  and  then  turned  and  for  an  inch 
or  two  ran  parallel  to  the  surface,  then  went 
down  for  a  short  distance  in  a  slanting  direc- 
tion. About  half-way  down  the  long  gallery, 
we  dug  out  Madam  Bee,  very  much  flustered, 
and  overwhelmed  with  grief  and  indignation. 

At  the  termination  to  the  gallery  we  found 
a  mass  of  pollen  about  as  large  as  a  white  bean 
and  enclosed  in  a  glistening  case,  looking  like 
a  very  delicate  pupa  case,  and  made,  no  doubt, 
from  a  secretion  from  the  bee's  mouth.  This 
little  object  when  crushed  had  a  strong  odour  of 
honey  and  also  a  slight  odour  of  cheese.  Into 
this  mass  of  nutriment  the  bee  had  doubtless 
deposited  her  egg.     It  must  have  taken  a  long 

47 


! 


i 

1 

S 

s 


n 


I 


in 


1 

:  , 

.1--  ^ 

i 

Down  North  and  Up  Along 

time  and  a  vast  amount  of  hard  ' vork  to  dig 
that  long  gallery  through  the  hard  earth  and 
collect  that  mass  of  pollen  and  honey  bit  by 
bit  from  distant  flowers. 

As  we  looked  at  the  ruins  of  a  once  happy 
home,  we  felt  the  self-satisfied  regret  of  the 
conqueror  at  the  discomfiture  of  the  conquered. 
The  self-control  of  the  bees  was  remarkable. 
They  flew  about  us  in  preat  excitement,  but 
their  anger  was  not  of  that  stinging  nature  which 
makes  one  so  anxious  to  respect  the  privacy  of 
bees.  One  flew  at  M.  and  administered  a 
sharp  admonitory  rap  on  the  cheek,  but  used 
no  more  pointed  argument. 

The  Christian  fortitude  of  these  bees  might 
have  made  us  uncomfortably  ashamed  of  our 
part  in  the  adventure,  had  it  not  occurred  to  us 
in  time  that  possibly  the  reason  for  their  for- 
bearance was  not  because  they  were  good,  but 
because  they  were  stingless. 

This  thought  recalled  the  picture  of  Hum- 
boldt sitting  on  the  mountain-side  above 
Caracas,  where  small  hairy  stingless  bees  crawled 
over  his  hands.  These  bees  were  called 
Angelitos"  by  the  natives;  and  we  on  North 
Mountain  also  met  our  Angelitos. 

48 


(C 


IV 
ACADIA'S     CROPS 

THE  people  say,  with  as  much  mod- 
esty as  the  statement  allows,  that  the 
land  reclaimed  from  the  sea  is  the 
most  fertile  in  the  world.  One  goes 
there,  expecting  he  scarcely  knows  what  in  the 
way  of  luxuriant  vegetation,  and  is  astonished 
to  find  this  remarkable  fertility  and  endless 
boasting  devoted  to  —  hay  ! 

Hay  is  no  doubt  a  very  good  thing  —  in  its 
way.  Still,  one  does  not  expect  to  find  it  the 
main  crop  of  "  the  richest  soil  on  earth,"  when, 
too,  that  favoured  soil  is  decidedly  limited  in 
quantity.  We  were  heretofore  accustomed  to 
think  of  hay  as  an  agricultural  product  ob- 
tained from  the  dooryards  and  fence  corners 
and  a  few  hay-fields  here  and  there  where 
the  land  was  not  needed  for  more  important 
crops. 

There  are  no  wheat-fields  in  the  Cornwallis 
Valley  ;  the  people  say  they  can  raise  wheat, 
but  are  full  of  excuses  for  not  doing  it.     The 
4  49 


iltl 


11 


.,  J- 


\     ( 


i     ;     • 


\ 

If  SI 

.1 

\ 

'  1 

1! 

i 

1 

\,  , 

'■   '  i 

Down  North  and  Up  Along 

truth  is,  wheat  does  not  thrive  as  well  as  hay. 
Every  effort  was  made  to  impress  upon  us  the 
marvellous  fertility  of  the  soil  —  expressed  in 
terms  of  hay.  They  told  us  .hey  cut  three 
tons  to  the  acre.  But  they  might  as  well  have 
said  thirty,  such  was  on  •  ignorance  concerning 
Nova  Scotia's  favourite  crop,  and  we  neither 
looked  nor  were  the  least  astonished.  Our 
indifference  troubled  them,  and  from  the  ques- 
tions they  asked  we  suspect  they  feared  we 
knew  of  a  place  in  "America"  where  more 
was  cut. 

Before  we  left  the  Cornwallis  Valley,  the 
mists  of  our  Ignorance  had  been  penetrated  by 
the  light  of  knowledge.  In  spite  of  ourselves 
we  finally  acquired  a  certain  reverence  for  hay 
and  a  proper  appreciation  of  three  tons  to  the 
acre.  M.  was  quickly  reconciled  to  it  because 
the  stacks  were  so  pretty,  and  the  shorn 
meadow-land  was  lovely  in  the  autumn  land- 
scape. It  is  not  probable  the  people  them- 
selves consume  hay ;  but  what  do  they  do  with 
it  ?  For  there  are  no  fiocks  or  herds  to  be 
seen.  And  what  else  can  they  consume,  when 
their  broad  and  fertile  lands  are  broad  and 
fertile  hay-fields  ?     Hay  and  apples  ! 

so 


Acadia  s  Crops 


Acadia's  crop  was  a  fragrant  one  at  least,  and 
if  we  could  not  at  once  appreciate  three  tons  of 
hay  to  the  acre,  we  were  able  to  grasp  the 
meaning  of  a  hundred  barrels  of  apples  to  the 
acre,  which  netted  the  farmer  two  dollars  a 
barrel.  That  was  better  than  raising  oranges 
in  Florida.  We  happened  to  know  something 
about  the  latter  occupation,  and  for  a  moment 
coveted  Nova  Scotia's  orchards  in  exchange 
for  certain  groves  whose  golden  hopes  had 
never  blossomed  into  realities. 

It  was  something  of  a  comfort  to  know  the 
Cornwallis  Valley  apple-trees  require  almost  as 
much  petting  as  Florida  oranges,  —  that  they 
are  subject  to  disease  and  parasite  and  have  to 
be  scrubbed  and  scraped,  and,  for  f^'l  we  know 
to  the  contrary,  sprayed  occasionaJ) 

It  had  always  seemed  to  us  as  though  apple- 
trees  happened^  as  though  they  grew  by  some 
special  law  of  their  own  and  asked  nothing  of 
man  but  room  to  stand  in.  But  this  is  not  so. 
If  man  wants  fair  apples,  he  must  needs  look 
to  his  trees. 

The  apple-trees  of  Acadia  are  not  the  gnarled 
and  delightful  friends  of  our  New  England 
childhood.   They  have  regular  rounded  crowns, 

51 


r. 


i  ■! 


1  fi 


d  l 


fi  i 


''^ 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 


and,  in  spite  of  :-ome  wilful  turnings  of  tough 
limbs,  are  on  the  whole  rather  conventional 
and  strait-laced  apple-trees. 

The  orchards  have  something  of  the  regu- 
larity which  so  displeases  at  one's  first  sight 
of  an  orange  grove.  But  the  orchards  are 
more  picturesque  than  the  groves,  because  an 
apple-tree,  no  matter  how  well  bred,  never  can 
escape  a  touch  of  wilfulness. 

Usually  apple-trees  growing  near  the  sea 
depart  very  decidedly  from  the  inland  form. 
On  the  more  exposed  parts  of  Cape  Cod,  for 
instance,  where  they  can  be  persuaded  to  grow 
at  all,  they  act  in  a  most  grotesque  manner. 
As  if  afraid  to  raise  their  heads  for  fear  of 
having  them  blown  off,  they  branch  out  close 
to  the  ground,  and  sometimes  have  a  crown  as 
broad  as  an  ordinary  full-grown  tree  and  a 
trunk  only  a  few  inches  in  height. 

Others,  as  if  trying  to  get  above  the  winds, 
or  as  if  their  fibres  had  been  drawn  out  by 
them,  grow  tall  and  narrow  with  a  crown  that 
often  leans  away  from  the  prevailing  winds. 
These  are  the  sort  that  make  certain  parts  of 
Rhode  Island  so  picturesque. 

But  the   Nova  Scotia  apple-trees   keep   to 

5a 


Acadia  s  Crops 


i 


their  ancestral  form  as  a  rule,  though  we  did 
see  some  orchards  not  far  from  Minas,  where 
the  crowns  had  turned  over  in  defiance  of  law 
and  order,  until  the  branches  on  the  lower 
side  touched  the  ground.  It  gave  them  a 
rakish  air,  as  though  they  had  their  hats 
cocked  on  one  side,  and  made  them  look 
very  jolly. 

Apples  were  not  ripe  when  we  were  among 
the  orchards,  but  they  were  nearly  grown,  and 
showed  what  they  would  become.  Either  it 
pays  as  well  to  care  for  apple-trees  as  for  any- 
thing else,  or  Nova  Scotia  apples  are,  if  not, 
as  their  owners  modestly  claim,  the  very  best 
apples  in  the  world,  yet  very  fine  apples  in- 
deed. For,  as  we  noticed  when  first  seeing 
them,  they  are  fair,  well  formed,  and  uniform 
in  size.  One  almost  never  sees  a  gnarled  or 
spotted  apple  on  these  trees. 

The  apples  themselves  are  hard  and  crisp, 
as  though  they  knew  a  thing  or  two,  and  felt 
the  responsibility  of  preparing  themselves  for 
a  trip  to  London,  or  to  the  West  Indies, 
where  they  find  their  market.  They  retain 
their  crispness  when  ripe,  and  are  juicy  and 
good  in  flavour,  as  we  had  opportunity  to  dis- 
ss 


fWf^ 


Sl-a-^.-.Jf^..JlM].       l.i..!»^||^^ 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 

cover  later.  They  command  higher  prices  at 
home  than  abroad  ;  at  least  we  bought  them  in 
Baddeck  at  the  rate  of  six  dollars  a  barrel. 

The  Nova  Scotians  complain  that  they  can- 
not get  good  apples  because  the  best  are  sent 
to  England.  Discrimination  against  home 
consumers  and  in  favour  of  foreign  markets  is 
not  peculiar  to  Nova  Scotia,  however.  One 
hears  the  same  story  the  world  over  wherever 
the  commodities  of  a  place  are  exported. 

We  recall  the  apology  of  a  Florida  Cracker 
from  whom  we  tried  to  buy  some  early  vege- 
tables: "We  have  none  that  are  fit  to  eat. 
We  shipped  all  the  best.  All  that  we  could  n't 
ship  we  fed  to  the  pigs,  and  what  the  pigs 
would  n't  eat  we  ate  ourselves." 

London  pays  well  where  apples  are  good,  but 
does  not  take  her  fruit  upon  faith  even  from 
her  loyal  provinces,  as  a  certain  farmer  learned 
to  his  cost.  The  story  goes  that  he  shipped 
his  apples  as  they  grew,  best  and  poorest  to- 
gether, but  by  some  chance  the  best  were  on 
top.  In  London  each  barrel  was  tested, 
clear  to  the  bottom^  and  all  of  his  were  rejected. 
Thus  he  lost  his  whole  crop  plus  the  cost  of 
transportation,  a  calamity  which  ruined   him 

54 


Acadia  s  Crops 


m 


past  recovery.  We  were  very  sorry  to  hear 
such  a  story  of  an  Acadian  farmer. 

Kingsport  is  only  one  mile  from  Canning. 
It  is  on  Minas  Basin  and  is  the  port  whence 
many  of  the  Cornwallis  Valley  apples  are 
shipped. 

Potatoes  are  also  shipped  from  here  in  large 
quantities,  and  the  Cornwallis  Valley  farmer,  we 
were  told,  is  the  aristocrat  of  the  Lower  Prov- 
inces. His  neighbours  accuse  him  of  having 
grown  lazy  under  prosperity,  and  pretend  to 
look  scornfully  upon  hiis  sloth,  though  one 
suspects  this  attitude  is  but  the  cloak  to  a 
secret  envy. 

Apples  and  potatoes  do  come  easy  in  the 
Cornwallis  Valley,  and  the  necessity  for  work 
is  the  cause  of  work  the  world  over,  still,  we 
have  seen  lazier  people  in  our  travels  than  the 
Cornwallis  Valley  farmers. 

Naturally  the  people  In  this  part  of  the 
country  do  not  look  with  favour  upon  annexa- 
tion. They  say,  "  Look  at  the  American 
farmer,  then  look  at  us  !  "  One  does  not  like 
to  look  at  the  American  farmer  and  then  look 
at  them. 

The  farmer  here  is  the  man    of  the  com- 

55 


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i 


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Down  North  and  Up  Along 

munity,  he  is  rich,  —  in  a  mild  way,  —  and  he 
is  sure  of  a  comfortable  living  from  his  well- 
tilled  acres.  He  feeds  the  rest  of  the  world, 
and  in  return  is  allowed  enough  to  eat  himself. 

In  the  towns,  we  are  told,  it  is  different. 
The  struggle  there  is  severe,  and  the  people 
do  not  look  with  disfavour  upon  annexation. 
They  have  a  sort  of  undefined  feeling  that  an- 
nexation would  somehow  turn  the  stream  of 
the  farmer's  prosperity  into  the  coffers  of  the 
townspeople.     It  is  very  likely  it  would. 

Kingsport  is  a  convenient  place  from  which 
to  visit  Parrsboro,  on  the  other  shore  of  Minas, 
as  a  boat  runs  between  the  two  places. 

It  is  a  pity  to  cut  the  Acadian  country  in 
two  by  interpolating  Parrsboro  between  the 
region  about  Canning  and  the  Grand  Pre 
portion,  but  it  is  very  much  the  easier  way. 
As  the  narrator,  however,  is  not,  like  the  trav- 
eller, influenced  by  considerations  of  time  or  of 
cost,  Parrsboro  shall  wait  its  turn,  and  Grand 
Pre  stand  where  it  belongs  geographically  and 
historically. 


ii 


S6 


GRAND    PRfi 


WAS  it  an  accident,  or  the  kindly 
guidance  of  the  Spirit  of  Romance 
that  led  us  to  enter  Grand  Pre  on 
the  fifth  of  September,  the  very  date 
of  the  expulsion  of  the  Acadians  ? 

Grand  Pre  lies  on  a  hillside  overlooking  the 
Cornwallis  Valley,  but  on  the  opposite  side  of 
the  valley  from  North  Mountain  and  the 
Look  Off.  From  it  one  sees  Canning  and 
Kentville  in  the  distance,  where  they  lie  in 
their  meadows  between  it  and  North  Mountain. 
It  is  a  small  and  quiet  village  as  one  sees  it 
to-day,  its  houses  still  stretching  down  one 
long  street,  as  was  probably  the  fashion  of 
times  gone  by,  when  Grand  Pre  was  the  home 
of  the  Acadians  and  the  thatched  roofs  of  the 
farmhouses  straggled  from  the  Grand  Pre  of 
to-day  to  Horton's  Landing  on  Minas'  shore, 
a  mile  or  more  away. 

The  houses  now  are  less  picturesque  than 
the  Acadian  homes,  for  their  roofs  are  not 
thatehed,  and  they  do  not  depart  often  enough 

57 


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1:' 


K) 


I 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 

yi—ii.i.i,  „— i.i.,.i  I   I  — -        I      I  — "■  ■■ I.I.         I  — 

from  the  prim  and  painted  Digby  type  to  make 
the  village  as  attractive  as  it  might  be.  Still, 
the  houses  here  are,  on  the  whole,  better  than 
any  we  have  yet  seen,  and  there  is  many  a 
charming  sketch  to  he  found  in  this,  the 
most  famous  spot  in  the  Lower  Provinces,  or 
for  that  matter  in  all  Canada,  for  nowhere  else 
in  British  America  have  history  and  poetry 
combined  in  so  wonderful  a  manner  to  roman- 
ticise a  place. 

On  a  high  hill  at  the  edge  of  the  village  is 
a  comfortable  inn,  once  a  charming  old  house 
with  a  quaint  doorway,  but  now  obscured  and 
vulgarised  by  a  new  addition  which  has  noth- 
ing to  recommend  it  but  its  internal  comfort 
and  the  unparalleled  views  from  its  many 
windows. 

From  this  hill-top  the  Cornwallis  Valley  is 
seen  stretching  into  the  far  distance,  a  vision 
of  beauty,  as  it  lies  with  the  changing  light  on 
its  distant  meadows  and  its  salt  marshes  glow- 
ing with  rich  colour,  '^'or  not  all  the  marsh- 
land has  been  reclaimed ;  there  still  are  broad 
reaches  of  exquisite  beauty,  to  delight  the  eye 
and  tempt  the  farmer  of  the  future  to  new 
leclamations. 


'■^S 


Grand  Pre 


? 


At  one*s  feet  lie  those  broad  meadows  of 
Grand  Pre,  for  from  these  prairies  the  place 
derived  its  name.  Far  away  shine  the  spires 
of  the  village  churches. 

Beyond  the  valley  and  the  villages  is  the 
wall  of  North  Mountain,  stopping  abruptly  at 
Minas*  deep  waters>  its  bold  front  of  Blomidon 
defying  the  rushing  tides. 

Minas  Basin  with  its  surging  waters  lies 
blue  in  the  distance,  deceptively  smiling  and 
peaceful  seeming,  on  a  fair  day,  like  a  calm 
spirit  that  nothing  could  perturb.  Beyond 
Minas  rise  the  low  mountains  of  the  Cobequid 
range. 

Not  only  the  Cornwallis  Valley  lies  revealed 
from  this  favoured  spot,  but  wide  reaches  of 
country  are  seen  in  all  directions,  the  high- 
lands across  the  Gaspereaux  vying  in  loveliness 
with  the  beautiful  valley. 

Meadow-land  and  orchard,  barley  and  oat 
fields,  smile  before  the  doors  of  Grand  Pre 
much  as  they  did  in  the  old  times.  Only  then 
there  were  wheat  and  flax  fields  ;  and  flocks  of 
sheep  and  herds  of  horses  and  cattle  were  also 
far  more  numerous,  if  the  stories  of  those  old 
times  are  true.     To-day  the  people  get  their 

59 


(' 


1. 1 


f  -I 

in  I 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 

wheat  and  linen  elsewhere,  and  the  flocks  and 
herds  for  the  most  part  find  pasture  in  more 
distant  and  less  fertile  places. 

Many  of  the  houses  of  Grand  Pre  are  shin- 
gled to  the  ground,  and  some  are  moss-grown 
and  gray  as  well,  and  the  village  has  a  certain 
distinction  from  the  tall  columns  of  Lombardy 
poplars  that  stand  about.  These  poplars  were 
brought  by  the  French  from  their  home  across 
the  sea;  and  wherever  in  Nova  Scotia  one  sees 
these  tall  straight  trees,  he  may  be  sur*"  that 
they  mark  the  site  of  what  was  once  an  Aca- 
dian village. 

At  Grand  Pre,  too,  are  the  Acadian  willows, 
not  only  picturesque  in  themselves,  but  wearing 
an  air  of  romance  and  poetry  that  enriches  the 
whole  scene.  It  is  hard  to  believe  we  live  in 
the  things  of  to-day  in  the  presence  of  the  wil- 
lows of  Grand  Pre.  There  are  a  few  very  eld 
and  very  decrepit  ones  on  the  road  leading 
from  the  railway  station  toward  the  town. 
They  can  be  regarded  with  unstinted  emotion 
and  unbridled  imagination,  for  there  can  be  no 
doubt  that  they  were  really  put  there  by  French 
hands  as  much  as  a  hundred  and  fifty  years  ago, 
and  have  witnessed  the  tragic  scenes  that  make 

60 


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At  the  End  of  the  Day 


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Grand  Pre 


/ 


the   history   of  this   part   of  the   country   so 
memorable. 

But  it  is  in  a  meadow  upon  which  the  rail- 
way station  faces  that  the  interest  of  to-day 
chiefly  centres.  Across  a  wide  field  is  to  be 
seen  a  row  of  willows,  and  near  them  is  an  old 
French  well,  of  course  called  Evangeline's  well. 
There  is  no  question  about  the  antiquity  of  the 
well.  It  is  as  genuine  as  the  willows,  and  if 
the  pilgrim  wishes  to  touch  its  sacred  water 
with  his  finger-tips  one  does  not  see  how  harm 
could  follow.  But  the  stranger  who  gazes  into 
the  depths  of  the  well  will  think  twice  before 
he  follows  the  advice  of  certain  sentimental 
guide-books  and  drinks  from  the  sparkling 
waters  that  once  had  kissed  Evangeline's  lovely 
lips. 

Either  the  water  has  changed  since  the  well 
was  dug  —  at  this  period  of  time  it  may  need 
cleaning  —  or  else  it  was  used  to  water  the 
cattle.  It  is  not  a  large  well  nor  a  deep  one, 
and  the  walls  are  of  stone.  When  we  saw  it, 
it  had  no  cover,  two  or  three  boards  being  laid 
crosswise  to  prevent  the  unwary  from  tumbling 
in,  or,  it  may  be,  to  mark  its  site  for  the  curious 
and  eager  pilgrim. 

6i 


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«'  ' 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 

Not  far  from  the  well  are  what  are  supposed 
to  be  the  foundations  of  buildings,  one  of  which 
is  said  to  be  the  site  of  the  very  chapel  in  which 
the  Acadian  men  were  imprisoned. 

Not  long  since  some  blacksmith's  tools  were 
dug  up  near  here,  which  of  course  fired  the 
imaginations  of  all  who  heard  of  it,  and  it  was 
at  once  averred  the  site  of  the  village  smithy 
had  been  discovered,  doubtless  the  very  spot 
where  Basil  the  blacksmith  wrought. 

Some  one  in  Grand  Pre,  we  were  told,  has  a 
collection  of  old  French  relics  which  he  is  will- 
ing to  show  to  any  one  interested. 

The  field  in  which  lies  the  well  is  traversed 
by  foot-paths  worn  by  the  coming  and  going 
of  visitors.  In  some  parts  of  the  world  this 
field  would  be  enclosed  and  an  entrance  fee 
charged ;  but  so  simple  a  means  of  amassing 
wealth  has  not  occurred  to  the  "  lazy  "  Corn- 
wallis  Valley  farmer  who  owns  it.  He  simply 
works  the  land  the  sight-seer  has  not  tramped 
down  too  hard  to  be  worked,  and  leaves 
this  field  to  the  fate  it  has  brought  upon 
itself. 

There  is  another  clump  of  very  large  wil- 
lows in  the  well-meadow,  near  the  fence  by  the 

62 


rrm\ 


Grand  Pre 


station.  They  are  veterans  indeed  of  the  most 
fantastic  forms  and  positions,  some  of  them 
having  literally  lain  down  in  order  to  endure 
the  ^  ress  of  years  a  little  longer. 

But  the  finest  willows  in  Grand  Pre  border 
an  old  roadway,  which  now  runs  through  the 
middle  of  a  farm,  and  which  is  fenced  in  with 
barbed  wire.  This  roadway  is  near  the  field  of 
the  well,  and  the  owner  of  it  cordially  pointed  it 
out  and  invited  us  to  walk  through  it,  instruct- 
ing us  concerning  a  hole  in  the  fence  through 
which  we  could  enter  without  difficulty. 

This  way  of  the  willows  was  charming. 
They  were  mighty  willows,  hollow  and  twisted. 
The  limbs  were  as  large  as  the  trunks  in  some 
cases,  and  they  were  pervaded  with  a  flower- 
like fragrance  which  we  had  never  noticed  in 
willows  before,  unless  perhaps  in  blooming- 
time  in  the  spring.  This  odour  came  from  the 
leaves,  and  we  wondered  if  it  might  be  the 
exhalations  of  poetry. 

The  old  roadway  is  broad  and  in  some 
places  seems  to  have  been  elevated.  There 
are  piles  of  stones  near  it  which  are  doubtless 
the  remains  of  the  foundations  of  old  French 
houses.     There  is  a  pervading  sense  of  peace 

63 


,?»: 


'I 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 

about  the  quiet  fields  and  these  worn  old 
trees,  which  harmonises  with  our  conceptions 
of  Acadian  life. 

From  Grand  Pre  to  Horton*s  Landing  is  a 
pleasant  walk  of  about  a  mile,  but  pleasanter 
than  Horton's  Landing  itself  is  a  grassy  lane 
near  there,  which  ends  at  a  stile  upon  which 
one  can  sit  and  look  at  the  broad  marshes  and 
meadow-lands  where  the  Gaspereaux  winds 
through  red  mud  at  low  tide  to  empty  into 
the  near  waters  of  Minas,  and  at  high  tide  is 
lost  in  the  sea  that  covers  the  sands. 

The  lowlands  near  the  mouth  of  the  Gas- 
pereaux formed  a  combination  of  meadow  and 
marsh  lands  which  we  could  not  understand. 
There  were  dikes,  but  they  seemed  incom- 
plete and  ineffectual,  and  later  we  learned 
how  a  great  storm  had  broken  through  and 
let  in  the  sea,  and  how  these  dikes,  whose 
cost  of  repair  so  close  to  turbulent  Minas 
had  made  them  a  questionable  blessing,  had 
not  been  rebuilt.  Remnants  of  them  are 
seen,  but  the  triumphant  tides  have  it  all 
their  own  way,  and  once  more  the  yellow 
marsh  grass  decorates  the  rich  red  soil. 

Wherever  accessible,  the  marsh  grass  is  cut 

64 


/ 


Grand  Pre 


and  preserved,  and  picturesque  haycocks  stand 
on  stilts  over  the  marshes,  but  the  value  of 
the  salt  hay  is  little  compared  to  the  opulence 
of  the  meadow-land  when  protected  from  the 
sting  of  the  brine. 

Situated  as  Grand  Pre  Is,  on  a  ridge  at  the 
extreme  eastern  edge  of  the  Cornwallis  Valley, 
the  views  everywhere  ibout  are  fine. 

Wolfville,  the  kigest  town  of  that  region, 
is  only  three  miles  away  on  the  same  ridge. 
It  is  a  college  town,  containing  several  institu- 
tions for  training  the  mental  and  spiritual 
man  and  woman,  being  blessed  as  well  with 
a  Young  Ladies'  Seminary.  It  Is  rather  an 
attractive-looking  place  with  Its  many  shade- 
trees,  and  from  It  may  be  obtained  a  fine  view 
of  the  Cornwallis  Valley. 

Being  plentifully  supplied  with  boarding- 
houses  and  accommodation  of  all  sorts  for 
the  summer  tourist,  it  is  the  general  stopping- 
place,  Grand  Pre  being  a  Mec:a  to  which  the 
tourists  pour  in  crowds,  to  gaze,  perchance 
to  worship,  at  Evangeline's  shrine,  to  shed  a 
tear,  and  go  their  way. 

The  drive  between  Wolfville  and  Grand 
Pre  is  beautiful  enough  to  entice  the  pleasure- 


65 


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Down  North  and  Up  Along 

seeker,  even  if  there  were  no  such  goal  as 
Grand  Pre  at  the  end.  There  are  two  roads 
between  Grand  Pre  and  Wolfville,  —  one  at 
the  foot  of  the  ridge,  and  the  other  along  its 
crest.  The  drive  over  the  upper  road  is  one 
to  remember. 

Up  hill  and  down  we  went,  past  farm- 
houses and  through  avenues  of  fragrant  firs 
and  spruces,  as  wild  a  woods  road  as  heart 
could  wish,  and  then  of  a  sudden  we  found 
ourselves  looking  down  into  the  Valley  of  the 
Gaspereaux.  It  is  not  a  broad,  calm  expanse 
like  the  Cornwallis  Valley,  but  a  sweet  sun- 
filled  vale  with  the  river  sparkling  and  wind- 
ing through  the  middle. 

The  Gaspereaux  is  not  a  mighty  flood,  and 
it  has  no  dignity  to  speak  of.  It  babbles  and 
prattles  over  its  stones  like  a  summer  brook, 
is  crossed  here  and  there  by  a  red-and-white 
bridge ;  and  near  its  mouth  it  is  disturbed  and 
discoloured  by  the  intruding  tides  of  Fundy,  that 
come  prying  as  far  as  they  can  into  the  affairs 
of  the  Gaspereaux,  and  cause  dikes  to  be  built 
to  shut  their  fatal  salt  embrace  away  from  its 
lower  marshes. 

Groups  of  willows  are  scattered  through  the 

66 


a 


Grand  Pre 


valley,  and  farms  on  gentle  slopes  lie  basking 
in  the  quiet  sunshine.  Apples  are  ripening 
everywhere.  All  is  bright,  sweet,  and  peace- 
ful, and  we  drive  on  with  a  feeling  of  calm 
pleasure  until  the  fairy  valley  is  left  behind, 
and  on  the  other  side  of  us  once  more  spread 
the  splendid  reaches  of  the  Cornwallis  Valley. 

Once  more,  and  from  another  point  of  view, 
we  see  our  old  friends.  Canning  and  Kentville 
and  Kingsport,  while  close  at  hand  lies  Wolf- 
ville. 

We  see  again  the  far-off  wall  of  North 
Mountain  standing  sentinel  over  the  fertile 
valley,  and  holding  back  the  fogs  of  Fundy, 
that  roll  up  from  the  Bay  and  look  over  the 
mountain  into  the  valley,  but  dare  not  venture 
down  to  blight  its  vegetation  with  their  cold 
and  damp  presence. 

Port  Williams  is  a  tiny  settlement  not  far  from 
Wolfville,  and  we  see  it  lying  near  the  mouth 
of  the  Cornwallis  River,  its  wharves  and  vessels 
telling  of  its  maritime  life,  for  up  to  its  wharves 
come  schooners  at  flood-tide  to  bear  away  the 
apples  and  potatoes  of  the  region  round  about. 
At  low  tide  the  schooners  comport  themselves 
with  what  dignity  they  may  with  their  keels  in 

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Down  North  and  Up  Along 

the  mud  and  their  high  sides  uncovered  to  the 
gaze  of  the  curious. 

There  are  little  groves  of  plum-trees  all 
about  Wolfville  and  the  surrounding  country. 
There  are  plums  at  Grand  Pre  and  in  the  Gas- 
pereaux  Valley,  but  not  so  many  as  at  Wolf- 
ville. The  orchards  there  were  blue  with 
ripening  fruit.  The  trees  were  bending  and 
almost  breaking  under  the  burden.  Blue 
plums  were  dominant,  but  there  were  also  red 
and  white  ones. 

The  farmhouses  looked  neat,  and  were  often 
picturesque  or  pretty,  and  everywhere  were 
orchards  of  ripening  apples  and  little  groves 
of  dark  blue  plums. 

We  missed  the  flowers  that  made  Digby  so 
charming.  Flowers  were  not  abundant  here, 
and  where  they  did  occur  they  were  meagre 
and  commonplace,  and  in  no  way  characteristic 
of  Acadia. 

To  Digby  belong  her  fish-flakes  and  her 
flowers ;  Acadia  has  her  dike-lands,  her 
orchards,  and  her  romance. 


i      1 


68 


VI 


nl 


EVANGELINE 


THERE  are  two  villages  of  Grand 
Pre.  One  lies  on  the  slopes  beyond 
the  Cornwallis  with  the  broad  valley 
smiling  before  her  doors.  The  other 
was  founded  by  Longfellow  and  lies  in  the 
hearts  of  his  readers  and  within  the  glowing 
lines  of  poetry,  enveloped  by  the  mists  of 
romance. 

It  is  difficult  to  separate  the  two ;  and  the 
Grand  Pre  of  reality  is  pervaded  by  a  charm 
not  her  own  from  association  with  the  Grand 
Pre  of  the  poet.  Lying  on  the  hill-top  above 
Grand  Pre  and  looking  over  the  peaceful 
meadow-lands  on  a  summer  day,  we  cease  to 
behold  the  present  scene,  and  the  poet's  fancy 
rises  to  take  its  place. 

We  read  the  page  before  us,  and  the  forest 
primeval  occupies  the  neighbouring  hills  in 
spite  of  the  fact  that  not  a  forest  tree  is  now  on 
them  •  and  we  listen  gratefully  to  the  murmur- 
ing pines  and  the  hemlocks,  although  there  are 
not  enough  pine-trees  in  all  Nova   Scotia  to 

69 


n 


•i' 


ii 


«i 


:i 


•f 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 

murmur  effectively,  and  it  is  a  question  as  to 
whether  they  ever  flourished  near  Grand  Pre. 
Still,  in  our  imagination  they  are  there,  and 
we  shall  no  doubt  learn  that  the  image  we  have 
so  long  held  of  them  is  far  more  enduring  than 
are  our  memories  of  Grand  Pre  as  we  saw  it  in 
reality. 

As  we  read  on  out  of  the  poet's  book  we  live 
in  a  strange  dream-world,  where  ever  and  anon 
the  modern  English  houses  are  blotted  out  and 
along  the  single  street  of  Grand  Pre  straggle 
the  poet's  houses  with  their  overhanging 
thatched  roofs,  their  dormer  windows,  and  their 
quaint  doorways. 

In  spite  of  the  stones  lying  prone  in  the 
meadow  by  the  well,  we  see  the  chapel  with  its 
uplifted  cross,  not  on  the  lowlands,  but  on  the 
side  of  the  ridge,  where  in  our  imagination  the 
quaint  and  comfortable  houses  stand.  We  know 
exactly  what  mound  it  occupied  and  how  the 
houses  were  grouped  about  it.  In  spite  of  the 
coffins  recently  exhumed  from  th6  meadow 
below,  we  know  the  burying-ground  of  our 
Grand  Pre  lies  by  the  wall  of  our  chapel. 

The  broad-eaved  barns,  low-thatched  and 
bursting  with  the  harvest,  cluster  like  separate 

70 


Evangeline 


id 

te 


villages  each  about  its  farmhouse,  as  the  poet 
has  shown  them  to  us. 

Down  toward  Horton's  Landing  —  apart,  as 
the  poet  has  set  it,  and  as  it  should  be  —  is  the 
peaceful  and  charming  home  of  Evangeline. 
There  in  the  broad-beamed  house  she  lives 
with  her  father.  We  see  her  as  distinctly  as 
we  see  the  young  girl  of  to-day  passing  along 
the  street,  far  more  distinctly,  for  we  shall  for- 
get the  young  girl,  but  Evangeline's  face  and 
form  will  linger  in  our  minds  for  ever. 

We  know  her  as  well  as  we  know  the 
members  of  our  household,  and  here  in  Grand 
Pre  she  seems  very  near  to  us.  V/e  know  she 
is  sitting  at  her  spinning-wheel  down  there  by 
Horton's  Landing,  in  the  home  of  her  father 
with  its  oaken  beams.  She  is  fair,  and  bright 
with  the  sparkle  of  French  vivacity  that  plays 
in  her  black  eyes,  which  flash  and  soften  with 
succeeding  emotions. 

She  is  clad  in  the  picturesque  attire  of  her 
country  people  ;  and  in  the  corner  near  her  is 
the  great  loom  where  she  sits  through  the 
winter,  weaving  cloth  for  the  family  and  laying 
up  piles  of  linen  against  a  day  that  is  nearing, 
and  about  which  she  is  dreaming. 


^* 


1  i 

it; 


MH 


{ .1 


?  f 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 

We  too  dream  as  we  read.  We  see  her  not 
only  in  her  home  but  abroad  on  Sunday,  wend- 
ing her  way  to  the  chapel,  clad  in  her  blue 
kirtle  and  wearing  her  Norman  cap  and  ances- 
tral ornaments.  We  see  her  townspeople  in 
bright  colours  about  her,  but  she  is  not  of  them  ; 
she  stands  alone,  something  rare  in  this  world, 
precious  to  us  in  a  deep  and  primal  sense. 

Whether  the  poet  meant  it  or  not,  in 
Evangeline  he  has  given  us  not  an  individual, 
but  a  type.  She  does  not  belong  to  any  time 
or  to  any  place;  she  is  the  great,  patient,  suffer- 
ing type  of  womanhood  which  shall  outlive 
nations  and  races.  We  follow  her  with  rever- 
ence, not  because  she  is  a  village  maiden,  fair 
and  gentle,  but  because  of  her  awful  mission, 
because  of  her  triumph  over  circumstance  and 
failure,  and  because  in  Evangeline's  hand-to- 
hand  struggle  with  the  adverse  forces  of  this 
world,  we  each  discern  our  own  battle. 

We  linger  in  imagination  with  Evangeline 
in  her  youth.  We  lovingly  watch  her  as  she 
moves  about  and  is  greeted  by  the  villagers 
with  the  same  reverence  we  ourselves  feel  for 
her.  They  do  not  know  why  they  feel  thus 
to  this  young  girl ;  but  we  know,  for  they  too 

72 


^\  1 


Evangeline 


are  the  creatures  of  our  imagination,  and  over 
them  all  we  have  cast  the  spell  of  Evangeline's 
future.  They  too  go  forth  and  suffer,  but  we 
do  not  think  of  that ;  we  follow  only  the  figure 
the  poet  has  shown  us  and  the  one  life  he 
has  illumined. 

We  see  Gabriel,  Evangeline's  lover,  but  he 
is  less  well  defined.  Perhaps  more  clearly 
stands  out  Gabriel's  father,  Basil  the  black- 
smith, and  Evangeline's  own  sunny-hearted 
and  well-loved  sire.  These  people  are  all,  to 
our  imagination,  of  superior  clay;  they  are  the 
well  beloved  of  the  poet,  they  and  all  their 
neighbours. 

It  is  from  the  first  pages  of  Longfellow's 
"  Evangeline"  we  get  that  sense  of  peace  and 
blessedness  which  has  confused  Acadia  with 
Arcadia  in  the  minds  of  so  many. 

From  our  place  on  the  hillside,  the  magic 
book  in  our  hand,  we  watch  the  peaceful  days 
glide  by,  we  see  the  coming  home  of  the  herds 
at  night,  and  listen  to  the  love-song  of  Evan- 
geline as  she  awaits  the  coming  of  her  lover 
Gabriel.  We  witness  the  betrothal  and  attend 
the  feast,  and  listen  lightly  to  the  ominous 
rumours  of  hostile  import. 

73 


9 


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If      ; 


Dow?t  North  and  Up  Along 

»'  '        — —■ —- .1..     II.         ,,-,,,.       ,■■— - — I       I    „■.■„.,  1,1—    I      ,.,.„■  I       ,    11.^ 

We  know  what  is  to  come.,  yet  the  poet's 
magic  chains  us  to  the  joyful  present.  We 
think  only  of  Evangeline  and  Gabriel,  —  she 
filled  with  deep  and  holy  joy  at  the  approach- 
ing perfection  of  her  womanhood,  and  he  filled 
with  love  and  ambition  for  her.  We  know 
their  hopes  will  never  be  realised,  yet  we  re- 
joice as  they  do,  as  though  we  were,  like  them, 
oblivious  of  the  future. 

While  we  are  still  lying  on  our  hillside,  a 
change  comes  over  the  face  of  Grand  Pre.  It 
is  the  fall  of  the  year,  and  the  deep  peace  of  the 
happy  valley  is  broken  by  the  noise  of  drums 
and  the  wailing  of  women  and  children. 
Evangeline's  father,  Basil  the  blacksmith, 
Gabriel,  and  all  the  men  of  the  village  are 
imprisoned  in  the  chapel,  where  they  had  been 
summoned  to  hear  the  will  of  their  masters ; 
and  the  fiat  has  gone  forth  that  the  French 
Acadians  shall  be  driven  away  as  exiles,  their 
homes  and  their  property  confiscated  to  the 
English  Crown. 

There  is  something  so  cruelly  inhuman  in 
this  decree  and  in  the  scenes  that  follow,  as 
the  poet  has  portrayed  them,  that  we  forget  the 
facts  of  history  and  are  carried  away   by  the 

74 


It'  n 


Evangeline 


same  rushing  tide  of  feeling  that  overwhelmed 
the  victims.  Our  indignation  blazes  with  theirs 
and  our  tears  flow  with  them,  as  we  go  from 
house  to  house  and  see  the  misery  that  has  in 
a  moment  overtaken  our  Acadia,  our  Isles  of 
the  Blessed. 

We  execrate  the  terrible  decree  in  spite  of 
the  excuses  history  presents,  for  here  we  are 
not  in  the  realm  of  history.  We  are  in  the 
poet's  land  of  Acadia,  and  these  cherished  peo- 
ple are  being  wantonly  scattered  and  destroyed, 
driven  forth  without  cause  and  without  right  of 
appeal. 

Over  there,  where  we  can  see  the  shining 
mouth  of  the  Gaspereaux,  the  English  ships 
are  waiting.  Cruel  hands  guard  the  men  in 
the  chapel  while  the  women  bear  their  house- 
hold goods  to  the  shore. 

And  now  Evangeline  begins  the  fulfilment 
of  that  sacred  promise  of  her  future.  She  does 
not  wait  to  weep,  nor  does  she  fall  in  despair. 
Over  her  seventeen  summers  of  gracious  youth 
is  suddenly  dropped  the  mantle  of  life's  tragedy, 
which  she  never  more  will  cast  aside. 

The  past  held  a  delusion,  although  she  does 
not  know  it  yet ;  her  womanhood  must  be  per- 

75 


iSM**"*''  ^'' 


!9Bi 


i  V  ,  i 


I-;; 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 

fected,  not  through  the  fulfilment  of  her  dearest 
hope,  but  through  abnegation  of  all  she  most 
desires ;  and  she  applies  herself  to  the  care 
of  her  neighbours,  comforting  and  helping 
them,  and  thus  in  a  measure  stilling  her  own 
pain. 

The  tragedy  of  Grand  Pre  hastens  to  a  con- 
clusion. The  prisoners  are  marched  under 
guard  to  the  ships.  We  see  the  long  line  of 
them,  the  young  men  first,  their  faces  set  and 
grim,  and  their  powerful  muscles  strained  but 
helpless  to  serve  them  against  the  oppressor. 

For  a  moment  Evangeline  flashes  before  our 
eyes ;  she  is  in  the  arms  of  Gabriel.  Our  hearts 
are  oppressed  with  the  doom  which  we  know  has 
fallen,  but  herS;,  in  spite  of  the  horrible  situation, 
is  sustained  by  the  hope  of  sharing  her  exile  with 
her  beloved. 

She  cannot  remain  with  him  now,  for  later  in 
the  procession  is  a  bent  old  form,  her  once 
joyous-hearted  father,  whom  she  now  scarcely 
recognises,  so  frightfully  have  the  hours  of 
misery  told  upon  him,  and  to  whose  side  she 
hastens. 

Again  we  see  her,  momentarily  overcome  by 
the  death  of  her  father,  who,  broken-hearted, 

76 


lii! 


Evangeline 


is  laid  to  rest  on  the  shore  of  Minas  by  the 
loving  hands  of  the  stricken  neighbours. 

Night  falls,  and  we  watch  the  people  by  their 
fires  on  the  shore ;  it  is  their  last  night,  and 
they  sit  in  dumb  misery.  In  a  moment  a  thrill 
of  anguish  and  horror  passes  over  our  own 
nerves  as  it  did  over  theirs,  for  along  the  strag- 
gling street  of  Grand  Pre  an  ominous  light 
shines. 

The  cruel  flame-storm  spreads  and  rages,  its 
passion  fed  by  the  thatched  roofs  of  the  Aca- 
dian homes.  This  is  the  last  drop,  and  the 
voices  of  the  people  are  raised  in  shrieks  and 
groans  of  utter  despair. 

Again  we  see  Evangeline,  no  longer  a  care- 
free girl  but  a  full-dowered  woman,  accepting 
her  womanhood  and  perfecting  it  in  the  fire  of 
her  great  affliction.  It  is  her  voice  that  com- 
forts and  her  hand  that  sustains,  and  young  and 
old  turn  to  her  in  appealing  reverence,  knowing 
now  the  cause  of  their  joy  in  her. 

In  that  miserable  camp  on  the  shore  stands 
not  Evangeline,  but  Womanhood. 

Lying  on  the  sunny  bank,  we  watch  those 
ships  of  the  land  of  romance  sail  away  from  the 
mouth  of  the  Gaspereaux.     We  scarce  see  the 

77 


^i'  P 


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1 


*:   ■ 

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«t 


t  ' 


t| 


t  '' 


''-■Ui 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 

silver  river  more  plainly  than  the  imagined 
ships,  and  crowded  on  their  insufficient  decks 
are   the  once  happy  Acadians. 

Evangeline  is  there,  alone  in  the  world. 
Her  father  lies  by  the  sea,  her  lover  is  on 
another  ship,  for  in  the  confusion  of  embark- 
ing, the  cruel  haste  and  the  urging,  they  were 
separated. 

We  watch  the  ships  sail  down  Minas  Basin 
toward  Blomidon.  We  watch  them  disappear 
around  the  bold  front  of  the  rocky  bluff;  and 
we  know  that  Evangeline's  and  Gabriel's  ships 
took  different  courses,  and  that  these  two  wan- 
dered over  the  earth  the  rest  of  their  lives 
in  search  of  each  other,  not  despairing  and  not 
staying  the  hand  because  the  heart  ached. 
They  laboured  for  others  while  struggling  ever 
onward  toward  the  goal  they  both  sought. 

We  put  down  the  oft-read  poem  with  dim 
eyes.  Our  hearts  go  out,  not  to  Evangeline, 
but  to  the  whole  world  of  suffering  humanity, 
whose  representative  she  is.  Longfellow  seized 
upon  an  event  in  history  but  to  give  living 
form  to  a  universal  truth. 

We  know  the  Grand  Pre  before  us  is  not 
the  imagined  scene  of  his  beautiful  poem,  yet 

78 


Evangeline 


we  cannot  see  the  old  willows  and  the  straight 
poplars  planted  by  the  hands  of  the  early- 
French  settlers  without  emotion. 

We  cannot  gaze  upon  the  broad  meadows 
before  the  door  of  Grand  Pre  without  remem- 
bering the  hands  that  first  held  back  the  sea. 
Nor  would  we  if  we  could. 

Suppose  the  real  Acadians  were  not  the  folk 
of  the  poet's  fancy ;  suppose  the  emotion 
expended  upon  their  sad  history  does  not 
wholly  belong  to  them,  —  still,  even  had  it  been 
deserved,  their  fate  was  terrible,  and  their  suf- 
ferings were  such  as  will  ever  appeal  to  the 
heart  of  humanity. 

Their  history  was  at  least  the  rough  material 
out  of  which  a  divine  form  was  fashioned  by 
the  poet. 


79 


k 


.i 


VII 
THE   ACADIANS 

IF  we  have  listened  with  exaltation  to  the 
Muse  of  Poetry,  let  us  now  turn  to  a 
graver  Muse,  that  of  History,  and  hear 
what  she  has  to  tell  us  of  the  Acadians 
and  their  exile. 

There  must  be  in  history  excuse  for  the 
atrocities  represented  in  the  story  of  the  poet. 
In  order  to  understand  events,  it  is  necessary 
first  to  make  allowance  for  the  theory,  now, 
perhaps,  beginning  to  be  disbelieved,  that  a 
king  or  a  government  can  own  and  control 
distant  lands  never  seen  or  in  any  way  im- 
proved by  them  ;  and  that  those  who  till  the 
soil  of  these  lands  and  who  make  their  homes 
in  them  are  the  creatures  of  these  distant 
powers. 

The  story,  briefly  told,  is  this.  After  the 
great  continent  of  North  America  was  discov- 
ered, it  was,  as  all  know,  eagerly  settled  by 
colonies  from  France  and  England. 

Instead  of  allowing  the  new  world  to  belong 
to  those  who  settled  it,  its  resources  to  be  by 

80 


'i,.-,  I 


h^'ii 


The  Acadians 


them  developed  and  controlled,  and  the  new 
society  governed  by  its  members,  France  and 
England  both  assumed  to  be  the  owners,  and 
each  tried  to  drive  the  other  away  and  gain  the 
sole  control.  The  consequence  was  innumer- 
able difficulties  and  much  bloodshed. 

Acadia,  being  one  of  the  principal  doors  to 
the  new  world,  was  a  favourite  bone  of  conten- 
tion, unfortunately  for  the  poor  creatures  who 
had  settled  there. 

In  17 13  the  treaty  of  Utrecht  was  signed 
between  France  and  England,  and  among  other 
provisions  Acadia  was  ceded  to  Great  Britain. 
Acadia  then  meant  not  only  Nova  Scotia 
and  New  Brunswick,  but  also  some  adjacent 
country,  and  did  not  include  Cape  Breton  and 
Prince  Edward  Island,  which  France  looked 
upon  as  her  own. 

In  the  treaty  of  Utrecht  it  was  agreed  that 
the  French  settlers  in  Acadia  should  be  allowed 
to  remain  on  their  lands  if  they  chose,  and 
should  be  free  to  practise  the  Roman  Catholic 
faith.  If  they  preferred  to  move,  they  were  to 
be  allowed  to  do  so  any  time  within  a  ysar. 

Few  moved,  and  at  the  end  of  the  year  those 
remaining  were  requested  to  take  the  oath  of 
6  81 


T 


^i  'f 


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Down  North  and  Up  ^ long 

>■  I  ■I.— ■■--  I  ■        1 1.  1 1       I     I     1 11   I      .      I      ■    ■■■■     .  .1.1^ 

allegiance  to  King  George.  At  once  there  was 
trouble,  for  the  Acadians,  although  they  had 
been  transferred  to  English  jurisdiction  by  the 
great  treaty  of  Utrecht,  had  not  thereby  been 
changed  from  Frenchmen  into  Englishmen ; 
that  was  something  the  treaty  was  not  able  to 
accomplish,  and  they  declined  to  take  the  oath 
of  allegiance  to  England. 

The  French  had  built  a  strong  fort  at  Louis- 
burg,  on  the  eastern  coast  of  Cape  Breton,  and 
were  not  at  all  unwilling  that  the  Acadians 
should  rebel  against  English  authority  —  quite 
the  contrary.  Having  given  up  Acadia,  there 
was  nothing,  we  may  well  suDpose,  they  so  much 
wanted  as  to  get  it  back  again,  and  that  the 
Acadians  should  help  them  to  do  this. 

We  have  seen  the  Acadians  in  the  trans- 
forming light  of  poetry,  and  they  were  a  very 
agreeable  people  ;  now  we  must  lock  upon  them 
in  the  prosaic  light  of  history,  which  does  not 
soften  the  angles  or  enrich  the  colours ;  if  any- 
thing, it  intensifies  the  external  hardness  of 
appearances. 

Parkman,  in  the  first  volume  of  his  "  Mont- 
calm and  Wolfe,"  gives  us  this  picture  of 
them :  — 

82 


'The  Acadians 


"  They  were  a  simple  and  very  ignorant  peasantry, 
industrious  and  frugal  till  evil  days  came  to  discourage 
them  ;  living  aloof  from  the  world  with  little  of  that 
spirit  of  adventure  which  an  easy  access  to  the  vast 
fur-bearing  interior  had  developed  in  their  Canadian 
kindred ;  having  few  wants  and  those  of  the  rudest ; 
fishing  a  little,  and  hunting  in  winter,  but  chiefly 
employed  in  cultivating  the  meadows  along  the  river 
Annapolis,  or  rich  marshes  reclaimed  by  dikes  from 
the  tides  of  the  Bay  of  Fundy.  The  British  Govern- 
ment left  them  entirely  free  of  taxation.  They  made 
clothing  of  flax  and  wool  of  their  own  raising,  hats 
of  similar  materials,  and  shoes  or  moccasins  of  moose 
and  seal  skin.  They  had  cattle,  sheep,  hogs,  and 
horses  in  abundance,  and  the  Valley  of  the  Annapolis, 
then  as  now,  was  known  for  the  profusion  and  excel- 
lence of  its  apples. 

"  For  drink  they  had  cider  or  brewed  spruce-beer. 
"  French  officials  describe  their  dwellings  as  wretched 
wooden  boxes,  without  ornaments  or  conveniences, 
and  scarcely  supplied  with  the  most  necessary  furni- 
ture. Two  or  more  families  often  occupied  the  same 
house ;  and  their  way  of  life,  though  simple  and  vir- 
tuous, was  by  no  means  remarkable  for  cleanliness. 
Such  as  it  was,  contentment  reigned  among  them, 
undisturbed  by  what  modern  America  calls  progress. 

"  Marriages   were    early,    and     population    grew 
apace." 


i 


\ 


% 

\    1 


\     .t 


83 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 

Here  we  have  a  new  and  very  different  pic- 
ture of  our  Grand  Pre.  It  is  difficult  indeed 
to  transfer  the  people  described  by  Parkman 
to  the  scene  we  look  upon  from  our  hillside 
and  which  has  so  recently  been  the  theatre  of 
Evangeline's  drama.  Yet  let  us  once  n*ore 
dream  a  dream.  Along  the  one  street  of 
Grand  Pre  straggle  the  homes  of  the  French 
peasantry.  They  are  rude  wooden  structures, 
picturesque  enough,  no  doubt,  with  their  heavy 
thatched  roofs,  but  devoid  of  the  refinements 
of  life  and  not  over-clean. 

It  is  a  community  of  ignorant  peasants,  un- 
able even  to  write  their  names,  we  are  told 
elsewhere.  Brought  as  emigrants  from  the 
mother-country,  they  have  settled  here  and 
industriously  worked  the  soil  and  reclaimed 
part  of  the  marsh  that  still  spreads  before 
their  doors. 

Being  ignorant  and  Industrious,  these  people 
had  neither  ability  nor  time  to  make  a  study 
of  the  art  of  diplomacy ;  being  superstitious, 
they  fell  an  easy  prey  to  those  who  were 
skilled  in  that  noble  art.  They  loved  their 
homes  and  were  content,  and  very  likely,  had 
they  been  left  to  themselves,  would  not  have 

84 


k 


The  Acadians 


known  whether  England  or  France  owned 
Acadia,  or  might  even  have  supposed  they 
owned  it  themselves. 

Not  being  left  to  themselves,  however,  they 
were  instructed  on  the  one  hand  to  take  the 
oath  of  allegiance  to  England,  which  in  all 
probability  they  would  have  done  quite  will- 
ingly, only  that,  on  the  other  hand,  their 
priests  told  them  not  to.  Very  naturally,  they 
obeyed  their  priests.  What  was  the  command 
of  a  distant  and  unseen  power  to  them,  com- 
pared to  the  actual  words  and  personal  pres- 
ence of  their  spiritual  advisers  ? 

Their  spiritual  advisers  should  have  known 
better  than  to  involve  this  innocent  and  igno- 
rant peasantry  in  so  absurdly  unequal  a  con- 
test as  a  war  with  the  English  Government. 
But  pawns  were  needed  in  the  great  Game 
of  Governments,  and  the  Acadians  made  very 
good  ones. 

The  chief  figure  of  these  unfortunate  times 
is  the  unenviable  one  of  Louis  Joseph  Le 
Loutre,  vicar-general  of  Acadia  and  mission- 
ary to  the  Micmac  Indians.  He  flourished  in 
the  middle  of  the  eighteenth  century  and  was 
to  an  extent  the  cause  of  the  expulsion  of  the 

8S 


l. 


I 


:!' 


X 


I  1  K  -I 


i  W/ 


i 

A 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 

Acadians.  Taking  advantage  of  the  ignorance 
and  superstition  of  the  people,  we  are  told  he 
taught  them  that  allegiance  to  Louis  of  France 
was  inseparable  from  fidelity  to  God,  and  that 
to  swear  allegiance  to  the  Crown  of  England 
was  to  bring  them  eternal  damnation. 

The  word  of  the  priest  was  the  only  law  to 
the  simple  peasantry,  and  they  refused  the 
oath.  When  they  did  take  it,  they  were  in- 
structed that  it  was  no  sin  to  break  it. 

The  treaty  of  Utrecht  was  signed  in  17 13, 
and  the  expulsion  of  the  Acadians  did  not 
take  place  until  1755,  so  for  nearly  half  a 
century  England  bore  with  what  she  looked 
upon  as  treasonable  conduct  with  a  forbear- 
ance unparalleled  in  history. 

During  this  long  period  of  time,  this  forty- 
two  years,  the  Acadians,  notwithstanding  their 
unfriendly  behaviour,  were  not  taxed,  they  were 
allowed  the  practice  of  their  own  religion  and 
the  ministration  of  their  own  priests. 

We  are  informed  that  from  the  beginning 
the  priests  were  the  secret  enemies  of  England, 
and  when  Le  Loutre's  power  began  the  Aca- 
dians were  incited  to  every  sort  of  violence. 

They  were  not  asked  by  England  to  take 

86 


li 


T'he  Acadi ans 


up  arms  against  their  countrymen  nor  against 
the  Indians,  who  were  the  friends  of  the 
French,  but  they  were  enjoined  to  remain 
neutral.  They  persisted  in  refusing  to  take 
the  oath  of  allegiance  excepting  with  such 
modifications  as  made  it  meaningless.  More 
than  this,  in  time  of  war  they  withheld  sup- 
plies from  the  English,  refusing  to  sell  except 
at  exorbitant  prices,  and  secretly  sent  their 
stores  to  their  own  countrymen. 

Le  Loutre,  when  he  came  upon  the  scene, 
stirred  up  the  Micmacs  to  constant  raids  upon 
the  English,  whom  they  mercilessly  killed; 
and  the  more  reckless  among  the  Acadians, 
disguising  themselves  as  Indians,  are  said  to 
have  joined  the  raiders. 

Within  what  she  considered  her  own  terri- 
tory, England  was  nourishing  an  enemy  that 
threatened  at  any  favourable  moment  to  de- 
stroy her. 

This  state  of  affairs  could  not  go  on  for  ever. 
Matters  were  nearing  a  climax ;  New  England 
demanded  the  suppression  of  the  Acadians, 
declaring  her  o'vn  safety  depended  upon  it; 
and  England  would  not  turn  a  deaf  ear  to 
New  England's  cries,  though  there  are  those 

87 


w 


'^■ 


V- 


I 


Mi 


■^p 


f4 


ti 


\^ 

t\' 

!(! 

■   A 

'I 

r  * 


j! 


f*  »     ! 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 

who  claim  that  her  forbearance  with  the  Aca- 
dians  was  not  wholly  philanthropic.  Her 
American  child  was  none  too  submissive ; 
and  she  may  well  have  feared  that  if  the  dis- 
tractions of  war  were  removed,  the  too-fast- 
growing  infant  might  undertake  to  break  away 
from  its  mother's  apron-strings. 

So  it  is  a  New  England  man  whom  we  see 
coming  to  execute  sentence  upon  the  Aca- 
dians.  The  weighers  of  events  tell  us  that  mat- 
ters grew  worse  and  v/orse,  that  the  Acadians 
became  more  and  more  insolent  and  insubor- 
dinate under  the  guidance  of  their  priests  and 
actuated  by  belief  in  the  final  triumph  of  the 
French. 

Finally  the  Acadians  were  sternly  com- 
manded to  take  the  oath  of  allegiance  without 
alteration,  as  other  British  subjects  took  it,  and 
they  refused.  They  were  given  time  to  con- 
sider, but  the  power  to  consider  did  not  lie 
with  them.  Le  Loutre  considered  for  them, 
and  threatened  to  turn  his  Indians  upon  them 
if  they  complied.  They  knew  this  would  be 
no  vain  threat,  for  his  cruel  hand  had  already 
been  felt   in    different   parts   of  the   country. 

Moreover,  to  comply  was  to  lose  their  souls. 

88 


< 


X 


■ai 
< 


i 


Tl 


'J 
i 


i. 


J 


The  jicadians 


So  they  refused,  trusting,  no  doubt,  to  Eng- 
land's past  clemency  to  overlook  their  conduct 
once  more. 

But  this  was  not  to  be.  Hard  pressed  by 
the  French  in  different  directions  and  doubt- 
less fearful  of  losing  Acadia,  —  and  all  that 
that  implied,  —  England  determined  finally  to 
rid  herself  very  effectually  of  the  troublesome 
peasants. 

It  was  John  Winslow,  a  descendant  of  the 
early  governors  of  Plymouth  Colony,  who 
sailed  from  Boston  one  day  with  a  shipful  of 
New  England  volunteers  to  undertake  the 
reduction  of  the  unruly  Acadians.  The  Aca- 
dians  themselves  had  no  suspicion  of  what  was 
pending.  They  were  the  victims  alike  of 
friend  and  foe,  for  two  thousand  of  them  had 
already  been  cajoled  or  driven  from  their  homes 
across  the  frontier  to  Ficnch  lands,  and  this 
had  not  been  done  by  the  English,  but  by 
their  own  countrymen,  the  French,  who  wanted 
their  services.  Thus  removed  from  their  Aca- 
dian homes,  all  domestic  ties  broken,  they  were 
far  more  willing  openly  to  fight  the  English. 

Winslow  helped  to  reduce  the  French  fort 
at  the  head  of  the  Cumberland  Basin,  which 


» 


',S  'I 


IV: 


M 


SHHHH 


' 


H     '  » 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 

commanded  the  entrance  by  land  into  the 
Peninsula  of  Nova  Scotia,  and  was  then  com- 
missioned to  remove  those  Acadians  whose 
headquarters  were  at  Grand  Pre.  Other  offi- 
cers were  sent  to  perform  a  similar  duty  in  other 
Acadian  centres,  but  it  is  of  Grand  Pre,  where 
the  plan  was  most  fully  carried  out,  that  we 
always  hear.  It  is  believed  that  three  thou- 
sand or  more  French  settlers  were  removed 
from  Acadia,  and  that  over  two  thousand  were 
taken  from  Grand  Pre  and  vicinity. 

It  was  a  thankless  task  to  Winslow,  and  to 
his  credit  be  it  said  he  did  it  reluctantly  and  as 
humanely  as  possible.  It  was  decided  that 
the  people  could  not  be  turned  adrift  on  the 
borders  of  Acadia  to  join  the  enemy,  who  would 
be  only  too  glad  to  receive  and  make  use  of 
them,  and  so  they  were  put  on  board  ships  and 
sent  away,  scattered  all  along  the  English  colo- 
nies on  the  Atlantic  coast,  some  of  them  even 
finding  their  way  to  Louisiana,  where  their 
descendants  may  be  found  to-day,  in  better 
condition  if  report  be  true,  than  were  their 
ancestors  in  the  apple  lands  of  Acadia. 

The  same  military  reason  which  caused  their 
dispersal  over  distant  shores  also  caused  their 

90 


II 


The  Acadia?is 


homes  to  be  burned,  so  that  the  stragglers,  for 
many  escaped,  might  not  return. 

Pains  were  taken,  the  historian  is  careful  to 
say,  not  to  separate  families  or  neighbours,  and 
few  such  events  are  believed  to  have  occurred. 
Yet,  whatever  precautions  were  taken,  the  exile 
was  pitiful  enough,  and  even  the  grave  histo- 
rian cannot  refrain  from  expressing  the  universal 
sentiment  as  he  nears  the  tragic  moment.  He 
tells  us  how  Winslow  sailed  down  Chignecto 
Channel  to  the  Bay  of  Fundy. 

"  Borne  on  the  rushing  flood,  they  soon  drifted 
through  the  inlet,  glided  under  the  rival  promontory 
of  Cape  Blomidon,  passed  the  red  sandstone  cliffs  of 
Lyon's  Cove,  and  descried  the  mouth  of  the  rivers 
Canard  and  Des  Habitants,  where  fertile  marshes, 
diked  against  the  tide,  sustained  a  numerous  and 
thriving  population.  Before  them  spread  the  bound- 
less meadows  of  Grand  Pre,  waving  with  harvests  or 
alive  with  grazing  catde  ;  the  green  slopes  behind 
were  dotted  with  the  simple  dwellings  of  the  Acadian 
farmers,  and  the  spire  of  the  village  church  rose 
against  a  background  of  woody  hills.  It  was  a 
peaceful  rural  scene,  soon  to  become  one  of  the 
most  wretched  spots  on  earth.  Winslow  did  not 
land    for   the    present,  but    held   his   course  tc    the 

91 


h\ 


1; 


m 


m 


^ 


a     \ 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 

estuary  of  the  river  Pisicjuid,  since  called  the  Avon. 
Here,  where  the  town  of  Windsor  now  stands,  there 
was  a  stockade  called  Fort  Edward,  where  a  garrison 
of  regulars  under  Captain  Alexander  Murray  kept 
watch  over  the  surrounding  settlements.  The  New 
England  men  pitched  their  tents  on  the  shore,  while 
the  sloops  that  had  brought  them  slept  on  the  soft 
bed  of  tawny  mud  left  by  the  fallen  tide." 

Soon  after  this  Winslow  and  his  men  landed 
at  Grand  Pre  and  were  stationed  In  the  village 
church,  from  which  the  historian  Is  careful  to 
Inform  us,  he  had  the  elders  remove  the  sacred 
things,  to  prevent  their  being  defiled  by 
heretics. 

Winslow,  using  the  church  as  a  storehouse 
and  place  of  arms,  took  his  own  station  In  the 
priests*  house  until  all  should  be  ready.  The 
people  did  not  know  why  he  was  there,  though 
his  presence  could  not  have  been  reassuring. 

On  Friday,  the  fifth  of  September,  1755,  at 
three  o'clock  In  the  afternoon,  the  little  church, 
in  obedience  to  orders,  was  filled  with  the  men 
and  boys  of  Grand  Pre,  —  an  expectant  and 
anxious  throng  waiting  to  hear  the  will  of  their 
superiors. 

The  decree  was  read  ;  the  blow  had  fallen. 

92 


f  1 


The  Acadians 


by 


Once  again  we  see  the  crowd  assembled  on 
the  shore.  The  men  are  shut  in  the  church  ; 
the  women  carry  the  household  goods  to  the 
ships.  It  is  not  the  assembly  we  saw  a  while 
ago,  however,  in  poetry  and  imagination,  but  a 
crowd  of  poor  hunted  peasants,  the  victims  of 
their  own  ignorance  and  the  playthings  of  greed 
and  cruelty.  Their  own  people  have  betrayed 
them,  and  the  foreign  nation  which  has  so  long 
tolerated  them  on  the  lands  they  themselves 
have  snatched  from  the  sea  and  cultivated  now 
casts  them  forth. 

The  flames  leap  up  from  the  miserable 
thatched  hovels  they  call  their  homes,  and  the 
cry  of  despair  breaks  forth,  for,  poor  though 
they  are,  those  hovels  are  their  homes  ;  they 
love  them  and  they  love  the  fields  they  have 
tilled.  They  are  cast  miserably  forth,  outcasts 
indeed,  and  no  matter  how  poor  in  intellect  or 
in  spirit  they  may  have  been,  their  cry  resounds 
through  time.  It  is  their  great  sorrow,  their 
tragic  fate,  which  appeals  to  every  heart  and 
makes  the  expulsion  of  the  Acadians  as  it  really 
occurred  but  a  shade  less  pathetic  than  the 
tragedy  the  poet  recited. 


v-f:, 


93 


VIII 
BLOMIDON 

KINGSPORT  lies  on  the  edge  of  a 
bluff  below  which  the  mighty  tides 
surge  in  and  out.  It  is  a  little 
wind-blown  village  unadorned  by 
fish-flakes,  for  fishing  is  not  carried  on  in 
Minas  Basin.  Its  wharf  is  less  imposing  than 
that  at  Digby,  though  the  tides  here  rise  to  a 
height  of  over  fifty  feet ;  but  the  shore  is 
shelving,  and  when  the  tide  is  out  the  red 
sands  are  bare  about  the  wharf,  and  the  vessels 
lie  aground. 

The  Annapolis  Basin  is  a  serene  expanse  of 
water  where  one,  as  it  were,  feels  the  lift  of  the 
tides,  while  Minas  Basin  is  a  maelstrom  where 
one  feels  their  rush. 

Once  Kingsport  carried  on  an  important 
ship-building  industry,  but  her  ship-yards  are 
now  no  more.  From  her  pier,  however,  ves- 
sels sail  for  London  bearing  the  apples  and 
potatoes  of  the  interior. 

From  Kingsport  one  gets  a  clear  view  of  the 
peculiar  outline  of  Blomidon.      A  vertical  wall 

94 


t 


-  i% 


Bio  mi  don 


of  dark  gray  basaltic  trap  drops  some  two  or 
three  hundred  feet  from  the  top,  from  which 
the  fir-trees  look  over.  Below  the  trap  is  a 
wide  sloping  terrace  of  lighter  gray  amygdaloid, 
and  below  that  the  steep  slope  to  the  sea  is 
of  dark  red  sandstone,  the  same  sandstone  of 
which  the  cliffs  along  the  shore  are  formed, 
and  of  which  the  rich  red  mud  that  makes 
the  Cornwallis  dike-lands  so  famous  is  largely 
composed. 

Blomidon's  stern  aspect  is  chiefly  due  to  the 
vertical  wall  of  rock  that  caps  it,  and  the  impres- 
sion it  creates  is  not  lessened  when  one  thinks  of 
the  stupendous  catastrophe  that  placed  it  there. 

The  North  Mountain  ridge  extends  from 
Blomidon  to  Digby  Gut,  and  from  Digby  Gut 
southward  to  Brier  Island,  where  it  ends.  The 
underlying  sandstone  of  the  ridge  was  no  doubt 
formed  by  the  action  of  water  at  the  level  of 
the  sea,  and  was  at  a  later  period  elevated. 
But  the  bed  of  trap  that  covers  the  sandstone 
the  whole  length  of  the  ridge  was  once  a  vast 
river  of  molten  rock,  poured  out  from  some 
great  volcanic  crater,  —  or  more  probably  series 
of  craters. 

Just  where  these  outlets  were,  no  one  knows; 

95 


i 

1 


i:;,  I 


\  i 


I 


tWHIH 


mmm 


J    . 


:'i|;(l 


tl 


I 


li 


Down  North  aitd  Up  Along 

but  somewhere  along  the  extent  of  North 
Mountain  the  great  mouths  yawned,  to  be 
finally  choked  full  and  concealed  by  succeed- 
ing geological  phenomena. 

Then  came  the  Ice  Age,  when  Nova  Scotia 
with  her  mountains  was  buried  deep  under  a 
frozen  mantle,  and  when  the  irresistible,  slow- 
moving  glaciers  emulated  the  power  of  fire  and 
tore  away  the  softer  rock,  scooping  out  the 
Cornwallis  and  Annapolis  valleys,  and  carrying 
boulders  and  pebbles  of  trap  across  from 
North  Mountain,  to  deposit  them  at  the  foot 
of  South   Mountain's  slaty  mass. 

Thus  fire  and  ice  have  wrought  in  ages  past 
with  tremendous  power;  but  a  gentler  and 
equally  potent  spirit  has  been  at  work  for  cen- 
turies, filling  the  heart  of  the  mountain  with 
exquisite  crystals. 

When  the  volcanic  fires  first  burst  forth, 
they  scattered  cinders  and  particles  of  old  lava, 
which  formed  a  deep  layer  of  more  porous 
material,  before  the  final  pouring  forth  of  the 
main  stream  of  molten  rock.  This  layer  is 
the  amygdaloid  belt,  which,  being  cf  lighter 
colour,  one  can  plainly  see  crossing  Blomidon's 
great  front. 


\  ■■ 


\\ .  i 


Bio  mi  don 


As  time  passed  and  the  trap  above  assumed 
its  present  hard  state,  the  porous  belt  below 
was  permeated  by  the  rain-water  that  insinuated 
itself  into  all  the  crevices,  slowly,  as  the  centu- 
ries passed,  dissolving  the  silica  and  its  com- 
pounds from  the  rock  traversed,  and  depositing 
them  in  the  cavities  of  the  amygdaloid  layer. 
Here  these  materials  arranged  themselves  into 
crystals,  those  mysterious  and  lovely  blossoms 
in  the  hearts  of  rocks,  and  filled  the  hollows, 
large  and  small,  with  the  most  delicate  and 
exquisitely  beautiful  forms. 

North  Mountain  is  an  exhaustless  treasure- 
house,  before  whose  marvels  even  Sindbad's 
wondrous  cave  grows  poor.  Within  it  exquis- 
itely beautiful  forms  lie  waiting  to  flash  or  glow 
whenever  the  rays  of  the  sun  shall  penetrate  the 
blackness  of  their  prison  cells.  Here  lie  blue 
amethysts,  agates  of  winsome  colours,  and  dark 
red  jasper,  besides  many  another  gem  of  lovely 
hue.  Nor  are  these  treasures  held  fast  in  the 
heart  of  the  mountain  inaccessible  to  man. 

In  some  places  the  hard  trap  has  overflowed 

the  whole  side  of  the  mountain  and  piled  up  in 

a  solid  mass,  in  others  it  is  less  impregnable. 

Often  where  the  cliff  rises  sheer,  as  at  Blomi- 

7  97 


'I 

I,' 

l! 


'•'I  I 


:■■) 


,1 

m 


m 

I. 


»;    ^i 


M    ^i 


H        ^ 


'it-  I' 


i      MJ 


•'S-* 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 

don  and  at  points  along  North  Mountain 
facing  the  Bay  of  Fundy,  the  tricksy  frost 
gnomes  have  been  at  work  loosening  and  split- 
ting away  fragments  of  rock  and  even  separat- 
ing large  masses  which  the  rain  washes  down 
the  mountain  side,  or  which  fall  in  the  form  of 
land-slides,  sometimes  of  considerable  extent. 

These  displaced  masses  are  chiefly  composed 
of  the  more  friable  amygdaloid.  Down  comes 
the  shattered  cliflf,  in  its  fall  exposing  its  cav- 
erns of  flashing  crystals,  while  geodes  and 
nodules  of  various  sizes  roll  over  the  sands  at 
the  foot  of  the  mountain,  all  to  be  finally 
washed  away  by  the  hungry  tides,  and  those 
of  Blomidon  ground  against  the  hard  rock  that 
forms  the  bottom  of  the  sea  basin,  until  in 
course  of  time  the  lovely  crystals  no  doubt 
help  to  form  the  mud  that  makes  the  dike- 
lands  fertile,  and  the  Cornwallis  farmers  raise 
their  hay  and  oats  from  jewels. 

But  not  all  of  Blomidon's  jewels  meet  this 
fate.  At  low  tide  the  sands  at  the  foot  of  the 
headland  are  bare,  and  then  come  the  treasure- 
hunters  from  Kingsport  and  Canning  and  all 
the  neighbouring  towns,  and  eagerly  employ 
the  time  the  tide  allows  them  in  gathering  what 

98 


f /  ?    : 


Ik:^ 


Blomidon 


their  hands  can  find ;  very  beautiful  as  well  as 
rare  crystals  often  reward  their  search. 

There  is  one  place  particularly  rich  in  the 
mineral  deposits  that  fall  from  above,  and  its 
name,  Amethyst  Cove,  sufficiently  explains 
what  is  most  eagerly  sought  for  there.  The 
best  time  to  hunt  for  Blomidon's  treasures  is 
in  the  early  summer,  after  the  frosts  of  winter 
and  the  rains  of  spring  have  loosened  and 
washed  down  the  rocks  above,  and  before  the 
summer  tourist  has  appeared  in  force  to  deplete 
the  store,  although  at  any  time  of  year  when 
the  beach  is  accessible  the  seeker  need  not  go 
away  empty-handed. 

Perhaps  no  part  of  Blomidon's  treasures  has 
so  great  a  fascination  as  the  geodes.  What 
fresher  delight  is  given  to  mortals  than  to  break 
a  geode,  a  rough  rounded  stone,  often  with  no 
beauty  of  form  or  colour,  and  discover  within 
a  central  cavity  lined  with  glowing  crystals  or 
entirely  filled  with  clustering  jewels  ! 

No  wonder  Blomidon  is  said  to  have  been 
the  abode  of  Glooscap,  the  Hiawatha  of  the 
Micmac  Indians,  whose  wigwams  once  stood  on 
these  shores  and  who  peopled  forest  and  head- 
land   with   supcnatural    beings    of  their  own 

99 


if 


i 


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IH 


r  '  ','. 


■I 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 

creation,  chief  among  whom  was  the  mighty 
Glooscap,  friend   of  man. 

There  is  a  legend  telHng  of  a  mystic  stone 
which  at  night  is  sometimes  seen  blazing  on 
the  brow  of  the  mountain.  This  is  the  "  eye 
of  Glooscap "  or  the  "  diamond  of  Cape 
Blomidon." 

Although  Blomidon  is  willing  that  mortals 
should  see  this  jewel  of"  miraculous  radiance  " 
and  even  allow  its  whereabouts  to  be  discovered 
at  times,  woe  to  the  unlucky  finder  who  should 
presume  to  remove  it.  Terrible  misfortune 
would  be  his  portion,  and  in  the  end  the  gem, 
by  its  own  miraculous  powers,  would  find  its 
way  back  to  Blomidon's  brow. 

There  is  another  story  to  the  effect  that 
among  the  crown  jewels  of  France  has  blazed 
for  over  a  century  a  great  amethyst  from  the 
treasure-house  of  Blomidon ;  and  it  has  been 
suggested  that  the  unstable  fortunes  of  France 
may  be  due  to  her  possession  of  this  very 
eye  of  Glooscap.  Certain  it  is  this  token 
has  not  of  late  been  observed  on  Blomidon's 
front. 

Although  one  can  see  Blomidon  clearly  out- 
lined from  Kingsport  one  must  get  close  to 

100 


Blomidon 


examine  it,  and  this  can  be  done  at  any  time 
by  crossing  the  Bay  to  Parrsboro.  The  boat 
from  Kingsport  to  Parrsboro  leaves  and  lands 
by  the  grace  of  Neptune.  It  alternately  lies 
Oil  the  sand  some  thirty  feet  or  more  below  the 
top  (jf  the  pier,  and  rides  triumphantly  with 
its  djclc  on  a  level  with  that  structure. 

One  fair  afternoon  we  sat  aloft  and  waited 
for  the  boat  to  ascend  to  us. 

The  captain  cheerily  announced  that  we 
could  get  aboard  in  a  few  minutes.  It  certainly 
did  not  look  so  as  we  gazed  down  upon  the  far 
away  "  Evangeline,"  but  the  captain's  faith  in 
Fundy  was  not  unrequited,  and  soon  the  smoke- 
stack began  to  appear  above  the  edge  of  the 
wharf. 

Soon  after  we  were  able  to  reach  the  top  of 
the  cabin  which  formed  the  "  Evangeline's " 
only  deck.  Our  descent  was  certainly  a  little 
steep,  but  not  so  much  so  as  that  of  a  four- 
footed  fellow-passenger. 

A  derrick  stood  on  the  "  Evangeline's  "  bow 
and  was  used  in  lowering  baggage  and  other 
bulky  articles  when  the  captain  wanted  to  get 
under  way  before  the  full  of  the  tide. 

This  day  a  man  wished   to  cross  with  his 

lOI 


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Down  North  and  Up  Along 

horse,  —  an  undertaking  in  which  the  horse  did 
not  appear  to  sympathise. 

A  narrow  bridge  with  a  railing  on  either  side 
was  run  out  from  the  pier,  one  end  resting  on 
the  pier  itself,  the  other  suspended  in  mid-air 
by  ropes  attached  to  th'i  useful  derrick.  Upon 
this  unstable  structure  the  horse  was  finally 
persuaded  to  place  hims!;lf,  his  master  standing 
on  the  bridge  at  his  head,  a  position  which  no 
one  envied  him.  The  derrick  of  a  sudden 
began  to  lower  away,  to  the  astonishment  and 
consternation  of  the  horse,  who,  whatever  he 
may  have  suspected,  certainly  could  not  have 
looked  for  any  such  perfidy  as  this.  He  made 
a  desperate  effort  to  back  off  once  and  for  all, 
but  it  was  too  late.  His  front  feet  rapidly 
descended  while  his  hind  ones  remained  aloft, 
until  he  stood  at  an  angle  which  no  horse  could 
be  expected  to  maintain,  when  down  he  slid, 
dragging  his  master  with  him,  both  landing  in 
a  heap  in  the  bottom  of  the  boat.  Fortunately 
neither  was  hurt,  and  no  harm  done  except 
to  the  feelings  and  heels  of  the  horse,  the  latter 
being  skinned  and  the  former  damaged  to  the 
extent  of  making  him  desire  to  jump  over- 
board as  soon  as  he  found  himself  fairly  on 

102 


Blomidon 


his  abused  legs.  But  he  was  dissuaded  from 
so  rash  a  measure,  and  his  wounds  comforted 
with  tar. 

We  learned  that  this  was  the  usual  method 
of  putting  horses  aboard  the  "  Evangeline." 

We  left  Kingsport  and  followed  the  land 
toward  Blomidon  ;  as  we  neared  the  headland 
the  boat  went  closer  to  shore.  A  loon  off  the 
port  side  eyed  us  anxiously  and  finally  with  an 
unearthly  wail  disappeared  under  the  water. 
"  Poor  thing !  "  said  M.,  "  it  is  crying  for 
Glooscap;"  and  if  the  Indian  legend  is  true, no 
doubt  it  was,  for  according  to  that  the  loons  were 
Glooscap's  huntsmen,  and  he  had  taught  them 
their  strange  cry,  promising  that  whenever  he 
heard  it  he  would  come  to  their  succour.  When 
he  left  the  world  of  men  the  loons  were  discon- 
solate, and  now  they  go  wandering  up  and  down 
the  earth  calling  for  Glooscap.  Glooscap  seems 
to  have  spent  much  of  his  time  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  Minas  Basin  and  there  to  have 
performed  his  most  remarkable  feats. 

The  legendary  accounts  of  the  formation  of 
the  Cornwallis  Valley  may  not  be  quite  as  true 
as  the  geological  story,  but  they  are  at  least  as 

entertaining.     According  to  them,  Minas  Basin 

103 


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Down  North  and  Up  Along 

was  once  a  great  lake  with  a  wall  of  rock  ex- 
tending across  the  end  from  Blomidon  to  Par- 
tridge Island.  It  was  the  home  of  the  beavers, 
and  the  Great  Beaver  threatened  to  flood  the 
country  with  his  monster  dam.  The  people 
appealed  to  Glooscap,  and  he  and  the  beaver 
had  a  conflict,  in  which  Glooscap  won,  and 
swinging  the  end  of  the  dam  about  made  an 
outlet  for  the  waters  of  Minas,  the  same  out- 
let through  which  the  tides  surge  in  and  out 
to-day.  Up  to  that  time  the  Cornwallis  Val- 
ley was  a  part  of  the  lake  and  was  connected 
with  another  lake  that  occupied  what  is  now 
the  Annapolis  Valley  ;  but  after  the  opening  of 
the  dam  at  Blomidon  and  the  gap  at  Digby 
Gut,  bjth  of  which  Glooscap  achieved,  the 
water  drained  away  and  left  the  valleys  as  we 
find   them   to-day. 

"If  you  do  not  believe  it,  you  will  when  we 
pass  Blomidon,"  M.  assured  me,  "  for  then  you 
can  see  the  dam." 

As  we  neared  Blomidon,  its  great  wall  be- 
came more  and  more  impressive.  The  iron 
front  of  basalt  frowned  aloft,  a  stupendous  cliff, 
resting  on  the  rock  below  in  fine  turrets.  Be- 
neath it  we  saw  in  detail  the  terrace  of  amyg- 

104 


Blomidon 


duloid,  fragments  from  it  strewing  the  sand- 
stone beneath,  in  places  quite  concealing  it, 
and  forming  streams  down  the  gullies  where 
the  young  trees  grew.  These  fragments  we 
knew  were  scattered  full  of  crystal  treasures  of 
great  beauty  and  no  small  value,  jewels  for  the 
roots  of  the  young  trees  to  twine   about. 

According  to  the  Micmac  legends  these 
jewels  were  placed  on  the  mountain  by  Gloos- 
cap.  It  seems  that  the  great  chief  had  an  old 
woman  for  a  housekeeper  and  a  beautiful  boy 
for  a  page.  He  never  married,  but  devoted  his 
life  to  the  service  of  man,  teaching  him  the  arts 
of  hunting  and  fishing  and  curing  the  game.  He 
also  taught  him  the  names  of  the  stars  and  the 
constellations  and  what  little  he  needed  to  know 
of  agriculture.  But  there  were  times  when  the 
Great  Spirit's  magnanimity  extended  to  his  old 
housekeeper  and  then  he  caused  her  to  assume 
the  beautiful  form  of  youth,  and  lavished  pre- 
cious jewels  upon  her.  It  was  during  such  a 
time  that  he  sprinkled  the  whole  mountain  in 
his  prodigal  generosity. 

From  our  near  view  we  saw  the  red  sand- 
stone of  Blomidon  to  be  crossed  at  times  by 
seams  of  lighter  rock  and  blotched  and  spotted 


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Down  North  and  Up  Alo7tg 


with  riull  green.  Although  Blomidon  as  seen 
in  profile  from  the  Cornwallis  Valley  appears 
to  be  a  narrow  bluff,  its  real  form  is  apparent 
when  one  passes  along  its  front,  which  is  not 
narrow  but  forms  a  long  wall  of  rock  broken 
at  intervals.  The  headland  grew  more  inter- 
esting and  more  majestic  as  we  went  on,  so 
that  for  a  time  we  almost  forgot  the  water 
surging  about  us.  But  this  was  not  for  long; 
we  were  nearing  the  opening  to  the  great 
trough,  where  the  water  rushes  through  with 
a  velocity  of  six  or  seven  miles  an  hour. 

This  trough  is  about  four  miles  wide  from 
Blomidon  to  Partridge  Island,  and  is  about 
eight  miles  long,  opening  at  the  lower  end  into 
Minas  Channel,  which  is  itself  a  mighty  trough 
leading  into  the  Bay  of  Fundy. 

The  Atlantic  tides  enter  Fundy  at  its  broad 
end,  which  lies  so  as  to  receive  them  without 
diminution  of  tlxeir  force ;  but  Fundy  narrows 
like  a  funnel,  and  the  pent  up  waters,  continu- 
ing with  the  impetus  with  which  they  entered, 
not  able  to  spread  out,  pile  up. 

At  Minas  Channel  the  same  thing  is  repeated 
on  a  smaller  scale.  The  already  abnormally 
high  tide,  rushing  through  the  channel,  finds 

1 06 


Blomidon 


ids 


only  the  narrow  outlet  into  Minas  Basin, 
through  which  it  propels  itself  with  terrific 
force. 

When  wind  and  tide  are  in  conflict,  the  strife 
is  terrible  and  no  boat  can  venture  into  the 
maelstrom.  Even  on  a  calm  day  the  water 
can  readily  be  seen  pouring  through  on  the 
flow  of  the  tide,  like  a  strong,  swift  river,  the 
current  being  distinguishable  for  some  dis- 
tance in  the  calmer  waters  of  the  Basin.  It 
rushes  along  in  eddies  and  whirlpools  and 
white-capped  waves,  which  give  one  a  vivid 
realisation  of  what  it  is  capable  of  under 
provocation   of  the  wind. 

Blomidon's  stern  front  defies  the  storm- 
winds  and  holds  them  back  from  the  fertile 
valley,  but  glancing  from  the  rock  they  strike 
the  water,  causing  terrible  commotion. 

Even  when  the  day  is  calm  the  "  Evangeline  " 
cannot  keep  her  head  steadily  to  her  destina- 
tion as  she  crosses  the  channel,  for  an  incoming 
swirl  of  water  will  often  strike  her  and  turn  her 
several  points  from  her  course. 

The  sea  bottom  at  the  foot  of  Blomidon  is 
smooth  and  solid  rock,  where  no  boat  can 
anchor,  so  when   a    storm    is   imminent    the 

X07 


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m 


J- 3 1 


ii 


Dow?i  North  and  Up  Along 

boats  flee  through  the  dangerous  channel  to 
the  safe  waters  of  West  Bay. 

As  soon  as  we  were  fairly  past  Bloinidon,  we 
could  look  down  the  inlet  to  Cape  Splits  which 
forms  the  farther  edge  of  the  trough  on  the 
south  side,  while  Cape  Sharp  is  seen  extending 
into  the  water  from  the  opposite  shore. 

Cape  Split  is  a  curious-looking  object.  At 
its  extreme  point  a  great  cliff  of  solid  rock 
seems  to  have  been  cleft  or  split  from  the 
mainland  by  a  blow  from  some  mighty  sword. 
It  stands  alone,  towering  aloft,  the  home  of 
countless  sea-birds  that  build  their  nests  upon 
its  unscaleable  summit.  Their  white  forms  can 
always  be  seen  in  clouds  about  it. 

While  Blomidon's  front  extends  almost  due 
north  and  south,  only  the  southeastern  corner 
being  visible  from  the  Cornwallis  Valley,  the 
ridge  of  rock  which  terminates  in  Cape  Split 
lies  nearly  at  right  angles  to  it,  extending  east 
and  west. 

This  ridge  is  a  narrow  spit  of  solid  rock  ;  and 

a  glance  at  the  map  will  show  how,  if  it  were 

swung   about    until    Cape    Split    touched    the 

Cumberland  shore,  Minas  Basin  would  in-^eed 

be  a  lake. 

1 08 


t' 


;-i    i 


Blomidon 


Of  this  M.  reminded  me  as  soon  as  we  came 
in  sight  of  the  queer-looking  cape,  and  it  could 
no  longer  be  doubted  that  if  Glooscap  was  able 
to  swing  this  dam  of  rock  hi  had  really  done 
so. 

M.  said  it  was  no  harder  to  believe  he  swung 
it  than  to  believe  he  sailed  on  Minas'  troubled 
waters  in  a  stone  canoe,  which,  according  to  the 
Indian  legend,  was  his  usual  method  of  pro- 
gression excepting  when  he  preferred  to  ride  a 
whale.  These  feats  indeed  are  no  more  re- 
markable than  that  performed  by  Saint  Patrick, 
who,  as  every  one  knows,  is  said  to  have  floated 
ashore  on  an  iron  door  when  shipwrecked  off 
the  east  coast  of  Ireland. 

In  front  of  us  as  we  crossed  the  channel  was 
the  bold  front  of  Partridge  Island,  while  down 
the  channel,  on  the  same  side  of  the  coast, 
stood  out  the  rocky  headland  of  Cape  Sharp. 

To  the  right  of  Partridge  Island,  and  some 
distance  away,  were  the  picturesque  forms  of 
the  Five  Islands,  for  whose  existence  Glooscap 
was  also  credited  by  the  Indians  as  being  re- 
sponsible, he  having  thrown  them  at  the  Great 
Beaver  at  the  time  of  the  conflict. 


I 


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109 


w^^ 


Hi. 


w  I 


IX 

PARTRIDGE    ISLAND 

PARRSBORO  is  not  on  the  shore  of 
the  bay,  but  lies  a  mile  or  more  up 
the  Parrsboro  River.  The  "  Evan- 
geline "  goes  there  if  the  tide  is  high, 
otherwise  she  lands  at  a  pier  on  the  Minas 
shore  near  Partridge  Island. 

Parrsboro  is  not  attractive.  The  best  thing 
about  it  is  its  tidal  river  with  tall  piers  backing 
up  against  the  village. 

Partridge  Island  —  as  all  that  portion  on  the 
shore  near  the  pier  is  called  —  is  far  more  in- 
teresting. The  pier  there  is  a  variation  of  the 
one  at  Digby.  It  is  smaller,  though  perhaps 
more  picturesque,  being  short  and  very  high, 
and  its  black,  dripping  sides,  heavily  draped 
with  seaweeds,  contain  openings  into  the  lower 
landing  which  look  like  caves.  It  is  heavily 
buttressed  on  the  side  away  from  the  incom- 
ing tide,  by  a  structure  filled  in  with  large 
stones.  This  was  necessary  in  order  to  keep 
it  from  being  pushed  bodily  away  by  the 
spring  tides. 

no 


Partridge  Island 


The  pier  was  built  several  times  before  it 
could  be  made  to  stay  there.  It  waa  Sir 
Charles  Tupper  who  persevered,  and  when 
worsted  by  wind  and  water  tried  again  and 
again  until  he  got  it  anchored  firm  and  fast. 
It  cost  a  great  deal  of  money,  and  in  memory 
of  Sir  Charles's  many  defeats,  the  pier  up  to 
the  present  day  is  called  Tupper's  Snag,  though 
it  would  seem  only  fair  now  to  re-christen  it 
Tupper's  Triumph. 

It  was  a  disappointment  to  learn  that  the 
pier  at  Partridge  Island  was  only  thirty-five 
feet  high.  We  had  come  there  for  the  purpose 
of  being  amazed  at  the  sight  of  a  sixty-feet  tide, 
but  how  could  this  happen  in  the  presence  of 
a  pier  with  a  paltry  height  of  thirty-five  feet  ? 

We  had  heard  wonderful  accounts  of  the 
performances  of  Fundy's  tides,  but  wherever 
we  went  the  highest  tides,  the  rips  and  bores, 
those  wonderful  cross-currents  and  wave-like 
rushings  in  of  the  water,  were  somewhere  else. 
We  went  to  Partridge  Island,  fondly  hoping 
for  the  tides  we  had  been  promised,  only  to 
find  a  thirty-five-feet  pier  ! 

Still,  we  could  not  complain  of  the  scale 
upon  which  the  tides  were  planned  there ;  and 

III 


U  ifi'l 


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1 1 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 

had  it  not  been  for  that  pier  we  should  have 
believed  the  tide  was  coming  in  sixty  feet  high 
before  our  eyes. 

The  harbour-master  made  a  helpless  gesture 
wlicn  we  put  some  questions  to  him.  Said  he, 
"  Don't  ask  me  about  the  tides  of  Fundy.  I 
don't  know  anything  about  them.  Nobody 
docs.  When,  nor  how,  nor  why.  I  know  only 
this,  that  in  summer  the  high  tides  come  on 
the  full  moon,  while  the  winter  high  tides  are 
on  the  new  moon.     But  I  don't  know  why." 

In  fact,  nobody  seemed  to  know  anything 
about  the  matter.  The  tide-table  in  the  al- 
manac did  not  coincide  with  the  "  Evangeline's  " 
schedule  for  leaving  one  pier  or  the  other,  or 
for  starting  at  one  time  or  another.  "  When 
does  the  boat  start  to-morrow  ? "  is  the  ques- 
tion the  traveller  must  ask  when  planning  to 
depart  from  Partridge  Island.  Happy  is  he 
if  he  finds  the  hour  not  unseemly  and  not  out 
of  all  proximity  to  the  starting  time  of  the 
Kingsport  train.  Having  found  out  the 
"  Evangeline's  "  intentions,  he  will  do  well  to 
take  his  station  at  the  wharf  a  good  half-hour 
earlier  than  advertised,  for  the  boat  frequently 
leaves  ahead  of  time. 


112 


Partridge  Island 


From  the  queer-looking  pier  on  the  shore 
with  its  theatrical  setting  of  promontories  and 
great  sea  basin  one  looks  across  at  Partridge 
Island,  which  is  not  an  island,  but  is  connected 
by  a  broad  curved  beach  with  the  mainland. 
It  is  a  rocky  headland  rising  straight  out  of  the 
sea,  its  iron  cliff?  holding  to  their  channel  the 
wild  tides  that  rush  through  between  it  and 
Blomidon. 

Beyond  it  across  the  water  we  saw  Blomidon, 
Its  stern  aspect  softened  by  the  distance  and 
the  sea-fogs,  and  beyond  Blomidon  stood  out 
the  distant  form  of  Split.  Through  the  opening 
between  Partridge  Island  and  the  mainland  we 
got  a  charming  view  of  Cape  Sharp,  which  is  by 
no  tneans  as  forbidding  as  its  name,  while  away 
down  the  channel  below  Sharp  lay  Cape  d'Or, 
though  why  its  golden  name  we  did  not  dis- 
cover. 

A  tall-masted  ship  was  anchored  off  the 
point  of  Cape  Sharp  when  we  first  saw  it  from 
Partridge  Island,  giving  just  the  needed  touch 
to  the  composition  of  the  picture. 

West  Bay,  which  lay  between  us  and  Sharp, 
is  the  harbour  sought  by  the  boats  of  Minas 
when  foul  weather  is  expected.     It  is  also  the 


8 


113 


^   5 


'I 


ill 

Hi 


I 


f    J 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 

anchoring  ground  for  the  large  vessels  that 
carry  coal  and  wood  from  the  back  country, 
for  Parrsboro  is  the  outlet  for  the  Springhill 
coal  which  comes  to  it  from  the  mines  by  rail. 

Standing  near  the  centre  of  the  amphitheatre 
made  by  the  cur\'ing  beach  that  connects  Par- 
tridge Island  with  the  mainland,  and  looking 
down  into  the  sea  basin  at  low  water,  one  gets 
perhaps  the  most  vivid  realisation  of  the  great 
Fundy  tides. 

It  is  like  looking  down  the  slanting  sides  of 
a  colossal  reservoir;  and  the  beach  instead  of 
sand  is  composed  of  large  pebbles,  quite  in 
keeping  with  the  scale  upon  which  this  mighty 
bowl  is  formed.  The  water  kisses  the  upper 
rim  and  then  swiftly  falls,  leaving  bare  the 
sides  of  the  bowl  and  for  a  long  distance  the 
bottom  as  well.  Then  back  it  comes,  rushing 
up  in  small,  curling  breakers,  up,  up,  until  it 
threatens  to  overflow  the  land.  But  this  it 
never  does ;  try  as  it  will,  it  can  but  fill  the 
bowl  and  then  sink  back  as  though  exhausted 
with  the  effort. 

By  perseverance  we  finally  found  our  high 
tide  and  found  it  before  our  eyes  at  Partridge 
Island.   We  had  watched  it  come  and  go  several 

114 


m 


Partridge  Island 


days  with  tempered  emotion,  for  we  could  not 
forget  the  thirty-five-feet  pier,  which,  to  our 
ignorance,  betokened  a  thirty-five-feet  tide. 

Then  we  began  to  consider  and  also  some- 
body told  us,  and  we  fell  to,  and  wept  in  vexa-- 
tion  that  we  had  looked  upon  and  had  not 
been  amazed  at  the  wonder  we  were  seeking. 

We  did  not  see  the  tide  rise  sixty  feet,  but 
we  did  see  it  reach  the  creditable  height  of 
fifty  feet  or  over,  a  very  giant  of  a  tide  when 
we  understood.  The  sloping  sea  bottom, 
which  is  bare  some  distance  out  at  low  tide, 
is  bare  for  a  hundred  feet  at  the  lowest  tides, 
and  at  the  highest  spring-tides  the  obnoxious 
thirty-five-feet  pier  is  swallowed  completely  — 
as  it  deserves  to  be. 

We  were  told  that  the  highest  of  Fundy's 
tides,  those  that  rise  seventy  feet  in  the  geog- 
raphies and  geologies,  must  be  sought  in 
Cumberland  Basin.  But  we  did  not  seek 
them  there.  We  had  come  to  Parrsboro  for 
them,  and,  lo  !  they  were  in  Cumberland  Basin. 
If  we  pursued  them  to  Cumberland  Basin, 
they  no  doubt  would  flee  away  to  some  yet 
more  distant  spot,  and  we  did  not  wish  to  put 
them  to  the  trouble. 

"5 


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1' 

1 

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ii 

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W 

'S 

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>  ' , 


1  1 

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H 

H'  |i 

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15 

f 

Down  North  and  Up  Along 

»— ^  I  ■■'-■ -III,—    ..  .II.!..-    ■    .11—        III  I        ■!■■■■  I.I.I.— Ml        ■  I         -  ,  l«1 

We  had  the  same  difficulty  with  the  bores 
and  rips;  wherever  we  went  they  were  some- 
where else.  So  we  never  once  saw  the  tide 
coming  in,  in  a  solid  wall  five  feet  high, 
though  our  faith  that  it  does  so  is  still  un- 
shaken. We  were  told  that  at  the  right  time 
of  year  —  of  course  this  was  the  wrong  time  — 
we  could  see  a  very  creditable  display  of  tidal 
fury  at  the  foot  of  Partridge  Island.  But 
though  we  did  not  see  the  most  pronounced 
of  Fundy's  phenomena,  we  had  the  best  and 
grandest  always  with  us,  the  swift  filling  and 
emptying  of  the  mighty  sea  basins,  the  wet 
and  dripping  sides  of  the  tall  piers  close- 
grown  with  seaweed,  and  the  shining  red 
chasms  of  the  tidal  rivers. 

Partridge  Island  has  the  same  formation  as 
Blomidon,  though  it  is  less  than  half  as  high. 
From  the  sea  on  the  east  rises  a  turreted  cliff 
of  basalt,  the  lower  part  of  which  is  amygda- 
loid ;  while  on  the  western  side  the  basalt 
forms  only  a  thin  covering  to  the  cliff  of 
amygdaloid.  Underneath  the  whole  can  here 
and  there  be  seen  cropping  out  the  under- 
lying red  sandstone. 

So    Partridge    Island    has,  too,  its   belt   of 

X16 


iv 


Partridge  Island 


jewels,  a  broader  belt  in  proportion  to  its 
size  than  even  Blomidon  wears,  and  its  treas- 
ures are  much  more  accessible,  being  indeed 
within  easy  reach  of  the  hammer  of  the  col- 
lector at  low  tide. 

Amethyst,  agate,  chalcedony,  carnelian,  jasper, 
and  opal  belong  to  Partridge  Island,  and  it  has 
besides  crystals  all  its  own,  while  of  those  it 
shares  with  Blomidon  and  the  rocks  back  of 
Digby,  some  are  here  found  in  their  finest  forms. 

Partridge  Island  stands  alone,  a  turret  of 
crystals  on  a  foreign  shore,  for  the  rock  com- 
posing the  coast  back  of  it  belongs  to  the 
lower  carboniferous  sandstones  and  shales. 
The  great  bed  of  trap  which  was  expelled 
when  Blomidon  and  all  North  Mountain 
received  their  gifts  of  jewelled  belt  and  iron 
crown  ends  in  isolated  bluffs  along  this  car- 
boniferous coast.  What  has  become  of  the 
intervening  portion,  that  lay  where  Minas 
Basin  now  gives  hospitable  entertainment  to 
the  fleeing  tides  of  Fundy  ? 

Partridge  Island  was  one  of  Glooscap's  re- 
sorts, —  he  crossing  to  it  in  his  great  stone 
canoe,  though  when  he  had  long  distances  to 

go  he  called  up  a  whale. 

117 


■A 
t.ti 


M 


1     : 


'XV 


Wr^ 


11 


I 


'1 1: 


t 


>  *i^ 


1 

i 

^'     1 

II 

1 

= 

l1  * 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 

^— —..—■—  II.—— ■..y -I— -■ ... ., ■■— ^. ,.-_.      ■■„  I         ,        — ■■■ .—  ■  — 

Glooscap's  whales  appear  to  have  been  de- 
ficient in  power  to  see  the  land  as  they  neared 
it,  and  depended  upon  their  august  ric'  *o  tell 
them  in  time  to  prevent  bumping  th  .  noses 
against  the  shore.  But  this  Glooscap  never 
did.  Wishing  to  land  dry-shod,  he  urged  the 
poor  whale  to  its  utmost  speed,  when  it  landed 
itself  high  and  dry,  greatly  to  its  chagrin.  But 
Glooscap  was  not  ungrateful,  and  putting  the 
end  of  his  bow  against  the  whale,  with  a  slight 
motion  of  his  arm  he  slid  it  back  into  the 
water.  His  whales  had  a  great  fondness  for 
smoking  and  sometimes  asked  Gloos'  n  for  a 
pipe  at  parting.  This  he  willingly  olied, 
when  the  whale  went  its  way,  smoking,  to  sea, 

Glooscap  is  said  to  have  had  a  famous  revel 
on  Partridge  Island  which  the  Micmacs  speak 
of  with  awe  to  this  day.  It  was  upon  the 
occasion  of  a  visit  from  a  young  magician  bear- 
ing the  name  KitpooseSgiinow.  Glooscap  in- 
vited the  guest  of  the  distinguished  name  to  go 
fishing  with  him  by  torchlight,  and  got  in  readi- 
ness his  monster  canoe  built  of  granite  rock  and 
supplied  with  paddles  and  spear  of  stone.  Ac- 
cording to  the  legend,  the  youth  caught  up  the 
boat  as  though  it  had  been  a  birch-bark  canoe 

ii8 


Partridge  Island 


and  tossed  it  into  the  water.  The  game  they 
caught  was  a  large  whale,  which  the  youth 
landed  as  though  it  were  a  herring.  They 
carried  their  booty  back  to  Partridge  Island, 
whence  they  had  embarked,  and  finished  the 
night  by  cooking  and  eating  the  whole  whale. 

Glooscap's  power  over  cold  and  heat  reminds 
us  of  the  season  legends  of  other  peoples.  He 
had  contests  with  his  rivals  in  which  each  tried 
to  overcome  the  other  with  cold.  When  it 
was  Glooscap's  turn  to  resist  he  built  a  mighty 
fire  of  whale  oil,  but  toward  morning  invariably 
succumbed  and  allowed  his  friends  to  be  frozen, 
but  never  forgot  to  restore  them  when  the 
contest  was  ov^  ".  Then  he  took  his  turn  at 
congealing  his  op^^onent's  train  and  succeeded 
in  time,  though  the  opponent  was  possessed  of 
the  same  power  to  restore  his  frozen  followers. 

Glooscap  finally  disappeared  at  the  encroach- 
ments of  the  white  man,  driven  away  by  the 
wickedness  of  the  people.  When  he  was  with 
them  all  the  animals  lived  in  accord  and  under- 
stood one  another,  but  at  his  departure  there 
was  a  confusion  of  tongues,  and  the  wolf  could 
no  longer  understand  the  words  of  the  bear, 
nor  any  animal  the  speech  of  another  species. 

119 


( 


ill 


1W" 


iiii 


I- 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 

The  great  snowy  owls  went  deep  into  the 
forests,  to  return  no  more  until  the  coming  of 
Glooscap.  They  may  at  time's  be  heard  cry- 
ing, "  Koo  Koo  Skoos  !  Koo  Koo  Skoos  !  "  — 
Oh,  I  ^;n  sorry  !  Oh,  I  am  sorry ! 

The  children  are  always  pleased  to  know 
that  Gloo'.cap  had  two  little  dogs  no  larger 
than  mice  which  he  carried  in  his  pocket,  or 
up  his  sleeve,  but  which  could  suddenly  in- 
crease to  the  size  and  form  of  the  largest  and 
swiitest  and  fiercest  of  their  kind  when  he 
needed  their  services.  He  had  a  way  of  turn- 
ing things  into  stone,  and  by  looking  down 
the  channel  toward  Cape  d'Or,  one  can  see 
Spencer's  Island,  which  is  not  an  island  at  all, 
but  merely  Glooscap's  kettle  turned  upside 
down.  He  put  it  there  after  using  it,  to  wait 
for  his  return,  and  there  it  remains  to  this  day. 
\{  one  passing  that  way  notices  large  boulders 
or  rocks  sticking  out  of  the  water,  they  are  the 
scraps  left  after  he  had  tried  out  his  oil. 

Down  that  way  somewhere,  too,  he  once 
turned  into  stone  a  moose  that  tried  to  escape 
by  swimming ;  and  the  two  dogs  that  were 
phasing  it  still  sit  on  the  shore  with  their 
cars  pricked  forward  watching  it,  —  both  solid 

I20 


\X-- 


P artridge  Island 


rock.  Many,  many  other  marvels  did  the 
mighty  Glooscap,  friend  of  man,  perform. 

The  Indians  are  gone.  They  are  no  longer 
to  be  seen  as  of  old  on  Minas'  shore.  They 
are  almost  as  mythical  at  Parrsboro  as  is 
Glooscap  himself;  only  their  legends  still 
linger  about  the  rocks  and  coast  they  loved 
in  days  gone  by. 

Once  upon  a  dme,  and  not  so  very  long 
ago,  Parrsboro  was  an  important  boat-building 
centre.  At  that  time  the  town,  what  there 
was  of  it,  was  down  by  the  shore  where  the 
Parrsboro  House  now  stands. 

The  pine-trees  are  gone,  and  Parrsboro's  ship- 
yards have  lost  their  prestige.  Lumber  still 
comes  from  the  back  country,  and,  such  as  it 
is,  makes  the  wealth  of  the  region,  in  conjunc- 
tion with  that  other  timber  which  has  been 
preserved  in  the  depths  of  the  earth  and  altered 
to  form  the  valuable  coal-beds  of  Springhill 
and  neighbouring  localities. 

"  When  the  town  was  on  the  shore,"  was 
the  halcyon  period  of  Parrsboro. 

There  is  a  hill  a  little  back  from  the  shore, 
and  between  this  and  the  beach  the  old  town 
stood.     The  terrace  above  the  deep  sea  bowl 


I 

Hi 


\'-^ 


k 


131 


•  ;r 


:'iv 


!|V:      ?: 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 

was  aglow  with  flowers  of  such  brightness  and 
profusion  that  they  are  still  remembered. 

We  should  have  liked  to  see  the  village  in 
its  flower-garden  age.  In  its  nook  back  of  the 
great  sea  basin,  with  its  setting  of  impressive 
bluflTs  that  make  Minas  at  this  point  so  splen- 
didly picturesque,  and  with  ample  flower-gar- 
dens brightening  the  stern  coast,  it  must  have 
been  well  worth  a  visit. 

In  spite  of  the  pebbly  shore  whose  stones 
roll  under  the  feet,  the  visitor  will  not  be  long 
in  finding  his  way  across  to  Partridge  Island, 
which  is  as  delightful  as  a  mountain  of  crys- 
tals ought  to  be.  On  the  land  side  it  is  thickly 
wooded  with  rather  small  "  hard  wood  "  trees, 
as  the  people  here  call  all  but  the  conifers ;  and 
we  wandered  along  a  grassy  winding  path, 
quite  away  from  the  outer  world,  into  a  wild- 
wood  seclusion. 

Presently  we  came  to  firs  and  spruces  cov- 
ered with  sage-green  moss,  and  then  to  a 
hollow  where  the  trees  were  dead,  standing  in 
close  ranks  with  gray,  interlaced  limbs,  heavily 
mantled  with  sage-green  moss  that  hung  like 
beards  from  the  lower  branches.  It  was  a  fit 
dwelling-place  for  the  gnomes,  its  deep  recesses 

122 


Partridge  Island 


dark  at  midday,  and  we  felt  that  lost  spirits 
might  be  wandering  there  in  the  twilight. 

Beyond  it  the  living  trees  were  scarcely  less 
mossy;  and  we  were  met  by  a  small  red 
squirrel  that  said  not  a  word  but  stared  at  us 
in  a  silent  and  un-squirrel-like  manner,  and 
fled  wildly  into  the  depths  of  the  forest,  as 
though  death  were  at  his  heels. 

The  squirrels  here  were  a  strange  breed : 
whether  the  spell  of  the  dead  forest  was  over 
them  I  cannot  say,  but  they  were  a  speechless 
race,  peering  out  from  behind  a  tree-trunk  and 
then  dashing  away  without  challenge  or  word 
of  welcome.  Perhaps  they  were  Glooscap's 
squirrels,  and  held  us  responsible  for  driving 
him  away. 

As  we  went  on,  the  trees  grew  larger  and 
more  apart,  and  finally  we  had  the  surprise  and 
delight  of  coming  suddenly  to  the  edge  of  the 
cliff  that  stands  upon  the  bay  side.  It  took 
steady  nerves  to  stand  on  the  brink  and  look 
down  the  stern  wall  of  rock  to  the  tides  below. 
The  cliff  was  broken  and  terraced  on  one  side, 
and  the  incoming  tide  was  impatiently  raging 
against  its   hard    front.     It  was    an   awesome 

sight,  and   we  there  got  nearest   to  the  tides 

123 


>t* 


\  t:*' 


^  1^1 


J; 


Ij A  ik 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 

where  they  thunder  against  the  walls  of  rock 
that  hold  them  unrelentingly  to  their  channel. 
From  the  top  of  the  cliff  we  got  a  fine  view 
down  the  channel,  —  of  West  Bay  with  its 
rocky  sentinel  of  Cape  Sharp  in  the  fore- 
ground ;  of  Cape  Split  in  the  distance  with  its 
isolated  peak  encircled  by  the  white-winged 
birds  that  continually  fly  about  it ;  and  far  away 
the  distant  headland  of  Cape  d'Or,  with  Spen- 
cer's Island  to  remind  us  of  Glooscap.  Here 
and  there  on  the  water  we  saw  sudden  flashes 
of  light  that  we  could  not  account  for,  until  we 
remembered  the  peeps  we  had  seen  on  another 
part  of  Minas*  shore,  and  then  we  knew  the 
little  silver-breasted  birds  were  here  also  per- 
forming their  marvellous  evolutions. 

The  headlands  of  this  strange  shore  have  all 
a  peculiar  interest.  Blomidon  and  Partridge 
Island  have  the  romance  of  their  jewels.  Cape 
Sharp  and  the  distant  Cape  d'Or  share  with 
them  in  this,  f^r  they,  too,  like  Partridge 
Island,  stand  in  their  majesty  of  red  sandstone 
and  crystal-bearing  trap,  on  the  edge  of  the 
carboniferous  coast.  They  have  the  same 
formation  as  Blomidon,  and  yield  their  treas- 
ures to  the  seeker. 

124 


'J:'     : 


Partridge  Island 


The  Five  Islands  are  also  portions  of  the 
same  volcanic  formation,  and  have  their  crystals. 

But  Split  has  no  jewels.  The  trap  here 
overflowed  and  piled  up  so  that  the  strange- 
looking  cape  is  made  of  the  iron-hard  trap 
only.  Devoid  of  vegetation,  devoid  of  beauty, 
Cape  Split  is  yet  the  chosen  home  of  the  soft- 
breasted  birds  that  continually  caress  it. 

The  most  charming  place  of  all  at  Partridge 
Island  was  the  hill  back  of  the  Parrsboro 
House.  Up  its  sides  ranked  the  ever-present 
spruce  and  fir  trees,  but  the  top  was  open,  with 
only  an  occasional  stretch  of  alders  or  a  sym- 
metrical young  fir. 

Uncut  grass,  now  a  soft,  silvery  yellow,  the 
colour  of  a  sheep's  back,  rippled  as  the  wind 
passed  over,  while  great  patches  of  the  bluest 
of  low-growing  blueberries,  bright  red  bunch- 
berries,  and  deep  crimson  cranberries  made  a  joy- 
ous medley  of  bright  colours.  There  were  two 
kinds  of  cranberries  there,  —  one  that  looked 
like  those  we  know  so  well  in  our  fall  markets, 
and  the  small  upland  berry,  deep  red  and  with 
a  pleasant  sub-acid  flavour  all  its  own. 

Never  saw  we  such  prolific  blueberries. 
They  grew  close  to  the  earth,  wiiich  was  one 

12? 


^hr 


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f  j  •;" 


:*  M, 


m§iU 


lii 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 

^— ^  11  ■     I  ■■  .11  -ll-.M  I  -I     -  ■  —-^      ■-■—■■ ^ 

solid  blue  expanse  wherever  they  appeared. 
In  short,  never  had  we  seen  such  a  merry, 
berry-bedecked  hillside.  The  bunchberries 
laughed  in  scarlet  glee  all  down  one  side  of  it, 
while  the  cranberries  did  their  best  to  outshine 
them  in  extensive  patches  here  and  there. 
Fair  as  it  was  under  foot,  there  was  in 
addition  a  splendid  view  from  this  breezy, 
berry-distracted  hill-top. 

On  one  side  shimmered  the  picturesque 
channel,  with  its  bird-silvered  Split,  its  Cape 
Sharp  and  the  rest,  while  jewel-belted  Blomi- 
don  and  Partridge  Island  guarded  the  entrance 
to  the  Basin.  On  the  other  side  lay  the  shin- 
ing Basin  and  the  Cumberland  coast,  with  the 
uprising  Five  Islands,  and  nearer  the  Two 
Brothers,  small  but  jewelled  islands  like  the 
others,  where  one  goes  when  in  need  of  extra 
beautiful  moss  agates.  Shining  in  the  sunlight 
was  Silver  Crag,  which  is  not  jewelled  and  is 
only  silver  by  courtesy  of  the  sun,  that  causes 
its  gypsum  cliffs  thus  to  shine  forth.  Far 
beyond  is  Economy  Point,  the  other  side  of 
which  Minas  Basin  grows  narrow,  and  is  called 
Cobequid  Bay. 

The  hill-top  from  which  we  get  this  most 

126 


L'  1^ 


Partridge  Island 


in 


d  is 
luses 
Far 


extended  of  all  views  is  so  pleasant  a  place  one 
loves  to  linger  there  and  to  come  again  and 
again.  Its  outlook  is  not  so  dramatic  as  the 
one  on  the  steep  cliff  of  Partridge  Island,  but 
it  is  more  charming.  For  every-day  living 
one  prefers  the  merry  bunchberries,  the  blue- 
berries, the  cranberries,  and  the  grass  the 
colour  of  a  sheep's  back,  to  the  terrifying  cliff 
with  its  sombre  surroundings  of  rock  and  dark- 
green  fir-trees. 

The  picturesque  new  red  sandstone  elevations 
with  their  overlying  trap  give  to  the  west  end 
of  Minas  Basin  its  chief  attraction,  but  there  is 
much  to  be  said  for  the  twisted  and  contorted 
carboniferous  beds  that  predominate  in  Cum- 
berland County.  They  contain  the  valuable 
coal  deposits  that  crop  out  at  Springhill  and 
abut  upon  the  shore  of  Cumberland  Basin,  and 
they  are  the  source  whence  come  the  grind- 
stones that  gladden  the  farmers'  hearts,  but  not 
the  backs  of  their  boys,  all  over  the  United 
States. 

At  Jogglns  on  Cumberland  Basin  the  car- 
boniferous strata  are  broken  off  short,  as  North 
Mountain  is  on  Minas ;  and  there  can  be  studied, 

as   almost   nowhere  else   in   the   world,  these 

127 


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i 


1,1 

i 


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Down  North  and  Up  Along 

interesting  and  ofttimes  beautiful  formations. 
We  heard  of  fossil  trees  standing  upright  on 
the  shore,  and  of  fossils  as  various  and  valuable 
to  the  geologist  as  the  gems  of  Blomidon  and 
its  neighbours  are  to  the  collectors  of  beautiful 
stones. 

The  "  back  country  *'  is  extremely  rocky  and 
rugged  with  rolling  hills  and  intervening  valleys, 
more  or  less  fertile.  The  woods  are  exquisitely 
mossy  and  the  brooks  the  most  distracting 
of  their  kind,  as  clear  as  crystal  and  as  wild  as 
the  rocky  land  through  which  they  find  their 
sparkling  way.  Their  pools  are  not  untenanted, 
as  one  can  discover  by  sprinkling  crumbled 
leaves  on  the  surface  when  the  inquisitive  trout 
put  up  their  noses  and  display  their  colours. 

The  lumbermen  set  up  their  portable  saw- 
mills back  in  the  woods ;  and  the  "  deals,"  as 
they  call  the  unplaned  spruce  boards,  cannot 
float  down  the  turbulent  and  meandering 
brooks,  nor  yet  be  drawn  by  waggons  or  sleds 
through  the  rocky  wilderness,  so  sluices  are 
built,  sometimes  many  miles  in  length,  which 
carry  the  water  of  the  turbulent  brooks  in  a 
steady  flow  down  the  hills.     Down  hills  and 

across  valleys  the  wooden  troughs  float  the  deals, 

128 


Partridge  Island 


and  we  passed  under  one  that  spanned  the 
valley  eighty  feet  above  our  heads,  held  up  on 
a  trestle  with  slender  spider-like  legs.  These 
sluices  leak  freely ;  besides,  the  water  washes 
over  the  sides  whenever  a  deal  comes  along 
forming  cascades  more  interesting  to  observe 
than  to  pass  under.  The  deals  sometimes  go 
overboard,  and  we  saw  them  strewing  the  ground 
along  the  course  of  the  high  sluice  and  breathed 
a  sigh  of  relief  when  safely  past  the  spot  where 
a  deal  might  have  dropped  down  some  eighty 
feet  on  our  heads. 

One  day  we  bade  farewell  to  Parrsboro  and 
trusted  ourselves  to  the  mercy  of  the  "  Evange- 
line" at  break  of  day.  A  light  fog  partly 
obscured  the  surrounding  headlands  that  looked 
out  at  us  dim  and  mysterious. 


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HALIFAX 

GO  to  Halifax  !  is  a  command  many 
have  received,  but  few  obeyed.  To 
most  of  those  thus  apostrophised 
in  early  youth  "Halifax"  had  no 
concrete  existence,  but  was  an  undesirable  and 
unlocatable  place,  to  "  go  to  "  when  one  had 
been  troublesome. 

Not  to  have  gone  to  Halifax  cannot  be 
regarded  as  a  serious  deprivation,  for  the  way 
there  across  the  country  is  not  enchanting,  nor 
is  the  city  itself  uncommonly  attractive. 

But  if,  being  at  Grand  Pre,  one  does  go  to 
Halifax  and  on  the  way  passes  Windsor  at  low 
tide,  he  will  be  rewarded  by  beholding  the 
ruddy  bed  of  the  Avon  during  the  temporary 
absence  of  the  river,  that  tidal  stream  having 
taken  itself  off  and  left  the  ships  in  its  channel 
to  lean  ingloriously  against  the  wharves  with 
their  keels  in  the  mud,  waiting  as  best  they  may 
for  the  unnatural  river  to  come  back  and  restore 
them   to   their   wonted   dignity.     It  must  be 

130 


Halifax 


humiliating  to  a  ship  to  lie  in  a  river  that  goes 
out  from  under  it  twice  a  day. 

Besides  possessing  the  bed  of  the  inconstant 
Avon,  Windsor  is  distinguished  as  the  birth- 
place of  Judge  Thomas  C.  Haliburton,  the 
humorist,  historian,  and  man  of  affairs  who  was 
born  in  1796  and  became  known  to  fame  as 
"  Sam  Slick,"  the  prototype  of  the  conven- 
tional Yankee  of  caricature,  of  the  stage,  and 
now  of  popular  fancy,  who  is  amusing  the  world 
under  the  newer  name  of  "  Uncle  Sam." 
Windsor  also  has  the  oldest  college  in  Canada, 
King's  College,  which  was  opened  in  1789. 

Outside  of  the  town,  on  Minas  Basin  and 
on  the  shores  of  the  St.  Croix  River,  white 
gypsum  crops  out  in  sepulchral-looking  cliffs. 
It  is  called  "  plaster  "  by  the  Nova  Scotians,  and 
is  mined  in  large  quantities  and  sent  to  the 
United  States,  where,  having  been  calcined,  it  is 
sold  as  plaster  of  Paris,  or  merely  ground  fine 
as  a  fertiliser. 

The  mineral  called  terra  alba  is  found  north 
of  Windsor  on  Cobequid  Bay.  We  did  not 
see  terra  alba  nor  feel  special  interest  in  it 
until  we  discovered  with  what  pride  its  pos- 
session was  regarded  by  the  people.     Then  we 

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Down  North  and  Up  Along 

bestirred  ourselves  and  found  out  that  it  is  a 
silicate  of  aluminium,  or,  in  common  speech, 
just  ordinary  pipe  clay,  which  is  immorally  used 
for  adulterating  candies  and  paint,  but  other- 
wise for  whitening  the  sails  of  yachts  and 
making  irresistible  the  boot-tops,  sword-belts, 
and  scabbards  of  the  brave  soldier  on  parade 
day. 

After  a  time  one  begins  to  have  a  feeling 
that  if  he  travels  long  enough  in  Nova  Scotia 
he  will  find  out  where  everything  comes  from 
without  recourse  to  the  encyclopsedias.  It 
brings  grindstones,  plaster  of  Paris,  and  pipe- 
clay nearer  to  one's  daily  life,  as  it  were,  to 
behold  with  the  mortal  eye  the  rocks  whence 
they  come.  Such  things,  like  apples  to  the 
city-bred  child,  had  always  seemed  to  us  to  be 
the  product  of  barrels  and  boxes  in  the  back 
recesses  of  the  city  shops. 

Aside  from  gypsum,  there  is  very  little  to 
interest  one  between  Windsor  and  Halifax. 
The  country  is  stony  and  overgrown  w\^\ 
stunted  evergreens. 

As  one  nears  Halifax,  Bee       '  ap      .rs 

all  the  prettier  for  contrast  w       the      .derness. 

It  is  a  long  arm  of  the  Atlantic  t  lat  reaches 

132 


■'i  ^  i 


Halifax 


to 
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up  into  the  land  apparently  for  the  purpose  of 
affording  pleasant  sites  on  its  hilly  shores  for  the 
homes  of  the  more  prosperous  "  Haligonians." 

Close  to  Halifax,  where  the  Basin  contracts 
into  "  the  narrows,"  by  which  it  joins  the  bay, 
is  a  picturesque  negro  settlement,  looking  very 
much  out  of  place  in  this  cold  northern  land ; 
and  we  wondered  how  these  children  of  the 
tropics  found  their  way  here,  until  we  recalled  — 
but  not  with  pride  —  the  slavery  epoch  in  our 
own  history. 

Halifax  has  the  site  for  a  splendid  city.  It 
lies  on  a  peninsula  clasped  in  bright  arms  of 
the  sea,  and  from  the  centre  rises  a  beautiful 
hill  two  hundred  and  fifty  feet  high,  that  looks 
in  all  directions  over  sea  and  land.  Upon  this 
hill  stands  the  citadel,  for  Halifax  has  the  dis- 
tinction of  being  the  most  important  naval 
station  of  the  British  Empire  in  the  Western 
Hemisphere,  and  in  order  to  support  this  heavy 
responsibility  it  is  armed  to  the  teeth. 

It  began  its  career  as  a  fort,  long  ago,  when 
the  Acadians  and  Indians  were  misbehaving, 
and  when  its  name  was  Chebucto.  Its  fortifi- 
cations have  grown  with  its  growth,  rather 
faster  indeed ;  for  with^  a  population   of  less 

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m      ■.!  ■■  ■■■       .1  ,     ■  .   ■ ...    -       ,    ■  I  I.  I  .1  ■      I   I »  ■— ^— i^^ 

than  40,000,  it  has  forts  in  every  direction,  —  on 
the  islands  in  the  bay,  on  the  rim  of  the  town, 
at  the  navy  yard,  and,  most  conspicuous  of  all, 
in  the  centre  of  the  town  is  the  citadel.  One 
could  not  throw  a  stone  in  Halifax  without 
hitting  a  fort.  All  roads  lead  to  forts,  and 
every  walk  terminates  in  a  fort. 

The  United  States  needs  only  to  look  at 
her  sister  sitting  serene  among  her  forts  to  feel 
how  excellent  is  peace. 

Halifax  itself  is  a  disappointment,  —  one 
might  even  say  a  shock.  After  having  been 
advised  to  "  go  there  "  all  one's  life,  one  finally 
goes,  to  find  this  city  of  great  expectations 
neither  beautiful  nor  picturesque,  in  short, 
nothing  better  than  commonplace,  a  mere  hud- 
dle of  narrow  gloomy  streets  and  cheap  build- 
ings ;  and  it  is  dirty,  too,  being  addicted  to  the 
intemperate  use  of  soft  coal,  —  a  pernicious 
habit  which  spoils  so  many  towns  in  the  United 
States  which  might  be  charming  but  for  it. 

One  feels  resentment,  too,  toward  Halifax 
for  being  a  mean  city  when  nature  has  been 
so  lavish  with  her  sparkling  waters,  her  pic- 
turesque hills,  and  her  enchanting  outlooks. 
Halifax,  set  as  she  is,  ought  to  be  a  gem,  a 

134 


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delight  to  the  eye.  She  ought  to  be  ashamed 
of  being  less  than  that. 

But  she  is  not  a  gem,  and  she  is  not  ashamed. 
She  is  puffed  up  with  pride.  She  is  proud  of 
her  soldiers  and  of  her  forts,  of  her  parks,  and 
of  her  public  buildings,  and  of  her  harbour. 
She  has  red-coated  soldierr^^  and  many  of  them. 
They  are  more  numerous  even  than  the  forts, 
and  they  are  always  on  the  streets,  where  they 
lend  a  certain  appearance  of  festivity  to  the 
otherwise  dull  town.  Their  presence  is  deco- 
rative, but  individually  these  soldiers  are  not 
very  impressive.  Many  of  them  are  certainly 
round-shouldered ;  and  with  their  bright  red 
coats  and  tiny  round  caps  perched  on  an  angle 
c^  the  head  and  held  in  place  by  straps  under 
the  chin,  they  look  so  irresistibly  like  the  long- 
tailed  gentleman  who  sits  on  the  hand-organ 
and  doffs  his  cap  for  pennies,  that  it  is  difficult 
to  contemplate  them  with  the  respect  due  to 
their  glorious  calling.  They  are  gathered  in 
from  the  remote  districts  of  the  mother  coun- 
try, and  present  the  appearance  of  having  been 
gathered  recently  and  before  they  were  quite 
ripe. 

As  to  the  forts,  if  a  city  wishes  to  glory  in 

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the  appliances  of  war,  Halifax  undoubtedly  has 
cause.  Naturally  one's  first  visit  is  to  the 
citadel  rising  from   the  heart  of  the  town. 

Until  recently  strangers  were  not  allowed  to 
enter  it,  but  now  any  one  is  welcome  to  walk 
about  the  ramparts  and  look  down  into  the 
moat ;  but  no  stranger  may  go  inside  the  fort 
nor  make  any  drawings  of  any  part  of  It,  nor 
use  the  reprehensible  kodak,  as  a  wicked 
"  American "  was  caught  doing  some  years 
ago,  to  the  confusion  of  the  British  Govern- 
ment and  the  betrayal  of  the  mighty  citadel  of 
Halifax.  He  probably  wanted  the  pictures  for 
his  album,  but  his  Innocent  thirst  for  photo- 
graphic distinction  resulted  In  closing  the  cita- 
del to  his  countrymen  for  several  years. 

There  is  a  fine  view  from  the  citadel,  and  the 
town  lies  spread  at  one's  feet  with  all  its  sins 
upon  it.  But,  after  all,  there  is  a  certain  quaint 
flavour  about  the  place,  and  the  water-front  is 
in  part  really  picturesque,  with  the  ships  from 
all  ports  of  the  world  lying  at  anchor  or  un- 
loading at  the  wharves. 

Whatever  may  or  may  not  be  said  for  the 

city  of  Halifax  itself,  there  is  no  fault  to  be 

found  with  its  very  beautiful    harbour.     The 

136 


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people  say  it  is  one  of  the  finest  harbours  in 
the  whole  world,  and  notwithstanding  their 
interested  statement  one  can  easily  believe  it. 

Halifax  has  its  Public  Gardens  within  the 
town;  and  just  outside  is  Point  Pleasant  Park, 
a  large  tract  of  land  for  the  most  part  in  a  state 
of  nature,  and  very  charming  nature,  with  its 
forest  trees  and  outcropping  rocks  and  its  out- 
looks over  land  and  water.  At  one  point  a 
little  patch  of  Scotch  heather  is  growing.  How 
it  came  there  we  did  not  learn,  whether  by  ac- 
cident or  design,  and  how  long  it  will  remain 
we  cannot  predict,  as  visitors  are  allowed  to 
gather  it  without  restraint. 

Unfortunately,  Halifax  yields  to  the  weak- 
ness of  boasting  of  her  public  buildings  ;  and  it 
is  only  after  the  "  Government  House,"  the 
"  Parliament  House,"  and  the  new  freestone 
post-office  have  been  fairly  faced  and  found 
wanting  according  to  non-provincial  standards 
of  beauty  and  magnificence,  that  the  disappoint- 
ment in  Halifax  as  a  city  is  complete. 

There  is  a  tradition  to  the  effect  that  woollen 
and  leather  goods  are  very  cheap  and  of  un- 
usual excellence  in  this  highly  fortified  town, 
but  like  other  traditions  this  has  but  a  slight 

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foundation  in  fact,  with  the  exception  of  the 
English  travclHng  rugs. 

These  were  a  delight  to  the  eye  and  a  men- 
ace to  the  purse,  as  it  was  impossible  to  refrain 
from  buying  more  than  we  needed,  —  an  act  of 
extravagance  w.iich  we  basely  excused  by  cast- 
ing the  blame  upon  Cape  Breton.  For  thither 
we  were  bound  ;  and  we  hope  any  one  will  agree 
with  us  that  it  would  not  be  safe  to  enter  that 
frigid  region  without  several  English  travelling 
rugs  of  fine  texture  and  pleasing  colours. 

Halifax  still  keeps  market-day.  Its  observ- 
ance is  not  as  important  as  formerly,  when  on 
that  day  only  could  the  citizens  get  their 
garden  supplies.  Now  there  are  shops  where 
fresh  vegetables  are  sold  as  in  other  cities,  and 
the  old  market-days  —  Wednesday  and  Satur- 
day —  have  lessened  in  importance  and  no 
doubt  in  pomp.  Their  chief  patrons  now  are 
the  poorer  class  of  housekeepers,  yet  one  being 
in  Halifax  on  market-day  should  certainly  visit 
the  market.  Its  scene  of  action  is  the  side- 
walks and  streets  around  the  post-office  square. 
Here  at  n  early  hour  the  country  folk  with 
their  loads  begin  to  congregate. 

The  visitor  would  do  well  to  go  rather  early 

138 


var-'Y  W'^W 


Halifax 

in  the  morning  before  the  crowd  of  buyers 
has  assembled,  else,  jostled  by  the  throng, 
he  will  find  himself  in  a  position  analogous 
to  that  of  the  hero  in  "Yankee  Doodle"  who 
"  could  not  see  the  town  there  were  so  many 
houses." 

One  cannot  see  the  market  there  are  so 
many  people.  When  seen  in  the  autumn  it 
consists  of  many  waggons  bearing  loads  of 
bloomy  cabbages,  yellow  shining  pumpkins, 
brown-skinned  potatoes,  red  beets,  yellow  car- 
rots, and  other  cheery-looking  vegetables, 
backed  up  against  the  curbstone. 

What  is  there  about  newly  gathered  vege- 
tables that  makes  one  always  want  to  stop  and 
look  ?  It  is  something  besides  their  bright 
colours  and  their  picturesque  effect.  It  is  faint 
memories  of  happy  childhood  hours  spent  on  the 
farm,  and  beyond  that  it  is  the  love  —  latent  or 
active  —  in  every  heart,  for  mother  earth,  from 
whose  bosom  come  these  gifts. 

The  waggons  and  their  loads  were  the  best 
part  of  the  show.  Far  outnumbering  them 
were  the  men,  women,  and  boys,  chiefly  women, 
who  stood  or  sat  on  the  curbstones  surrounded 
by  baskets  of  things  to  sell  —  or  there  might 

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be  but  one  small  basket  containing  the  week's 
gleanings  from  the  home-patch. 

Eggs  were  so  plenty  that  we  were  In  danger 
of  literally  "  walking  on  eggs,"  and  we  picked 
our  way  in  fear  and  trembling.  Baskets  con- 
taining little  deep-red,  upland  cranbei.ies  or 
dark  blue  huckleberries  gaily  called  our  atten- 
tion from  the  all-absorbing  eggs,  and  one  little 
old  grandmother  had  come  with  two  or  three 
pints  of  belated  red  raspberries. 

Near  by  a  woman  had  a  plucked  fowl  and 
a  handful  of  parsley. 

A  boy  sat  listlessly  beside  a  pail  of  snails, 
unconscious  that  they  were  seizing  the  oppor- 
tunity to  crawl  over  the  sides  of  their  prison 
and  away  from  culinary  distinction,  down  the 
crowded  sidewalk  in  a  vain  search  for  the  sea. 

A  man  near  by  had  a  leg  of  lamb  in  his 
basket,  and  another  had  three  large  eels  that 
acted  as  if  they  would  like  to  follow  the  ex- 
ample set  by  the  snails,  but  their  keeper  was 
alert  and  their  hopes  defeated  by  circumstances 
over  which  they  had  no  control. 

One  corner  was  bright  with  the  flower- 
venders,  who  presented  large  trays  of  migno- 
nette,  sweet    peas,   and    many   old-fashioned 

340 


Halifax 

garden  posies  to  the  passer-by,  while  near  them 
the  herb-woman  held  enormous  bouquets  of 
gray-looking  herbs  that  exhaled  a  savour  of 
coming  turkey-dressing  and  seed-cakes.  Not 
far  from  the  flower-women  were  gathered  to- 
gether some  "  Preston  Negroes  "  with  their 
contributions  of  eggs  and  onions.  They  were 
the  basket-makers  for  this  whole  camp,  for 
everything  was  displayed  in  baskets,  most  of 
them  after  one  pattern,  and  all  made  by  the 
negroes  of  Preston.  They  were  pretty  baskets, 
strong  and  of  unique  design. 

Of  course  there  were  Indians.  What  would 
an  open-air  market  in  the  north  amount  to 
without  them  ?  They  were  across  the  street 
and  by  themselves,  and  truth  compels  one  to 
confess  they  were  not  interesting.  They  hadj, 
as  it  were,  fallen  between  the  races,  and  pos- 
sessed neither  the  charm  of  the  savage  nor  the 
advantages  of  the  civilised  state.  Most  of 
them  were  half-breeds,  and  all  of  them  were 
dressed  in  the  cast-off  clothing  of  rhe  white 
people.  They  had  toy  bows  and  arrows  for 
s.ile  and  tawdry  ornaments  such  as  can  be 
bought  by  the  quantity  in  any  city  of  the 
United  States.     But  they  added  some  pictur- 

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csqueness  to  the  scene,  as  in  colour  and  features 
they  were  still  Indian. 

Fruit  was  a  luxury  in  Halifax.  The  open- 
air  market  was  bright  with  vegetables  and 
flowers,  but  with  the  exception  of  cranberries, 
huckleberries,  and  small  sour  plums  there  was 
no  native  fruit  to  gladden  the  eye  or  refresh 
the  palate.  So  we  had  concluded,  when  sud- 
denly our  glance  fell  upon  a  booth  as  bright 
as  the  flower-trays  with  its  assortment  of 
beautiful  peaches,  pears,  and  plums.  Surely 
this  was  remarkable  fruit  to  be  matured  in  a 
northern  climate,  but  to  our  amusement  the 
vender  pointed  to  his  wares  and  with  mis- 
placed pride  uttered  the  disillusioning  word 
—  California ! 

The  negro  in  Halifax  is  an  anomaly.  He 
is  hardly  seen  elsewhere  in  Nova  Scotia,  but 
here  there  are  so  many  that  one  keeps  ques- 
tioning the  latitude.  Surely  one  has  made  a 
mistake  and  gone  "  down  South  "  instead  of 
"down  North."  But  a  glance  at  the  early 
history  of  Halifax  makes  the  mystery  clear. 
From  its  beginning  this  town  seems  to  have 
been  a  place  for  the  reception  of  outcasts  of 
various  sorts. 

I4t 


Halifax 

Thither  came  the  fugitive  negroes  from  the 
cotton  States  of  the  South,  and  thither  were 
sent  the  insurgent  Maroons  from  the  island 
of  Jamaica.  The  history  of  the  Maroons  is 
not  the  least  romantic  episode  connected  with 
the  history  of  Halifax. 

It  seems  that  upon  the  conquest  of  Jamaica 
by  the  English  in  1655  ^^^  Spaniards  pos- 
sessed a  large  number  of  African  slaves. 
These  people,  called  Maroons,  refused  to  sub- 
mit to  English  rule,  but  fled  to  the  mountains, 
where  they  exercised  their  ingenuity  in  harass- 
ing the  English.  After  a  long-continued  and 
desperate  resistance  they  were  finally  subdued, 
and  some  six  hundred  of  them  sent  to  Halifax. 

His  Royal  Highness,  Prince  Edward,  then 
commander-in-chief  at  Halifax,  being  g  ;atly 
impressed  with  the  orderly  and  handsome 
appearance  of  these  people,  set  them  to  work 
at  the  fortifications  on  Citadel  Hill,  paying 
them  th<  same  amount  that  other  labourers 
were  paid.  We  were  told  that  the  "  Maroon 
bastion**  remains  as  a  monument  of  their 
industry. 

All  went  well  until  cold  weather  came  and 
the  negroes  were  removed  to  Preston  —  a  few 

M3 


I 


m 


At        t 


I  " 


ll 


it     i 

i.  '.  t 


.fi 


n>: 


{^ 


AW' 


\ 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 

fcl  — ...  I       -.  ,  I  1.1  — —         I      I         I    l..l  I..IIM.-I—      ■■■—      .,.  ■ 

miles  from  Halifax  and  across  the  harbour  — 
to  spend  the  winter.  Then  the  people  from 
Jamaica,  half  frozen  and  half  starved,  wanted 
to  go  home,  refused  to  do  any  more  work, 
then  or  afterwards,  and  became  generally 
riotous.  Finally,  the  well  disposed  were  re- 
moved to  a  place  near  the  harbour  of  Halifax, 
where  they  probably  formed  the  nucleus  to 
the  picturesque  settlement  which  we  passed 
upon  our  approach  to  that  city. 

In  1800  the  troublesome  Maroons  at  Pres- 
ton were  sent  to  Sierra  Leone,  having  cost 
both  Jamaica  and  the  British  Government  a 
very  large  sum  of  money. 

Other  importations  and  exportatlons  of  the 

coloured  race  followed,  Preston  being  always 

one  of  the  centres  of  their  settlement ;  and  the 

pretty   brown-skinned    girls   who   sit   on    the 

curbstone  every  market  day  with  their  berries 

and  eggs  are  descendants  of  those  insurgents 

from  sunny  Jamaica  or  of  the  fugitives  from 

the  cotton  fields  of  the  United  States.     It  is 

said  the  negroes  are  not  yet  reconciled  to  the 

climate  of  Nova  Scotia  —  small  wonder    that 

they  are  not !  — and  though  many  of  them  were 

born   there,  they  sigh   for   the  palms   of  the 

144 


ij  ( - 


Halifax 

traditional  land  of  their  ancestors  and  have 
little  zest  for  the  fir-trees  of  the  North. 

One  wonders  whether  it  was  the  custom  of 
sending  disaffected  people  to  Halifax  that  orig- 
inated the  historic  advice,  perhaps  less  common 
now  than  formerly,  to  "  go  to  Halifax.'* 

To  go  there,  however,  is  not  wholly  a  punish- 
ment, and  there  is  no  reason  why  it  might  not 
become  a  very  agreeable  place  to  "  go  to "  in 
the  summer-time.  One  misses  the  tides  of 
Fundy  here,  and  there  is  no  doubt  that  their 
sudden  loss  has  upon  the  mind  of  the  traveller 
the  effect  of  belittling  the  charming  coast  about 
Halifax.  All  other  shores  seem  tame  for  a 
long  time  after  one  has  known  the  mighty  rise 
and  fall  of  the  waters  of  the  Bay  of  Fundy. 


t, 


. 


I: 


10 


MS 


-^  .|i 


SVit 


XI 


TOWARD    CAPE    BRETON 


I'.i 


To  turn  our  backs  upon  Halifax  was 
to  turn  our  faces  toward  Cape  Breton 
Island,  that  unknown  land  of  hoped- 
for  adventure  that  lay  farther  away 
"down  north." 

We  went  by  rail  as  far  as  Truro,  through  a 
desolate  region  of  stunted  fir-trees  and  loose 
rocks  like  that  with  which  the  journey  to  Hali- 
fax had  made  us  familiar.  Yet,  after  all,  this 
depressing  country  may  be  about  to  yield  up 
some  mineral  treasure  that  will  make  it  blos- 
som like  the  rose  in  the  mind's  eye  of  its 
owner.  For  in  this  strange  land  valuable  min- 
erals are  ever  being  discovered  in  unexpected 
places.  Indeed,  not  far  from  this  very  region 
that  we  have  scorned,  gold  mines  have  been 
found  hidden  among  the  hills. 

The  gnomes  of  the  rocks  seem  to  have 
selected  Nova  Scotia  as  their  own  particular 
work-shop,  where  they  have  fitted  together 
their  strange  mosaics  of  multiform  geological 

X46 


T'oward  Cape  Breton 

formations,  their  rocks  marvellous,  and  their 
minerals  and  metals  precious  or  curious.  Fine 
gold,  coal,  iron,  and  gypsum  have  made  Nova 
Scotia  famous  the  world  over,  and  to  these  the 
queer  rocky  mineral-packed  peninsula  adds 
marketable  amounts  of  silver,  tin,  zinc,  copper, 
manganese,  plumbago,  pottery  clay,  terra  alba, 
salt,  granite,  marble,  slate,  limestone,  and  grind- 
stones. Doubtless  this  is  but  a  tithe  of  what 
she  could  do  an  she  would,  and  of  what  she 
will  render  up  in  the  future. 

Although  we  did  not  as  tourists  take  pleas- 
ure in  the  scrubby  country  around  Halifax,  nor 
care  for  the  commercial  value  of  its  products, 
we  are  persuaded  that  the  geologist  would  find 
it  of  surpassing  interest. 

Shubenacadie  is  one  of  the  early  stops  after 
leaving  Halifax.  Naturally  one  looks  forward 
with  anticipation  to  meeting  a  place  with  such 
a  name.  But  what  is  in  a  name?  Certainly 
nothing  so  far  as  the  actual  village  of  that  dis- 
tinguished appellation  is  concerned. 

Shubenacadie!  "abounding  in  ground-nuts'* 
—  and  also  in  Micmac  Indians.  The  Shuben- 
acadie of  our  imaginations  continued  to  abound 
in  these  things ;  but  Shubenacadie  the  actual, 

147 


ii 


11  <1. 


Ij     (!    ■  J- 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 

alas !  contained  its  whole  stock  of  romance  in 
its  name.  If  it  had  ground-nuts,  it  did  not 
show  them  to  us,  nor  did  it  bring  forth  any 
Indians. 

Truro  was  as  disappointing  as  Shubenacadie, 
for  the  maps  placed  it  at  the  head  of  Cobe- 
quid  Bay,  the  extreme  eastern  end  of  Minas 
Basin,  and  it  was  but  natural  that  we  should 
expect  to  see  the  waters  of  Fundy  there  once 
more.  Not  so.  Truro  is  two  miles  from  the 
bay,  a  bustling,  manufacturing  town  of  no  at- 
tractions, but  with  a  great  deal  of  smoke  and 
noise. 

A  few  miles  away,  however,  is  Maitland,  near 
the  mouth  of  the  Shubenacadie  River,  —  a 
famous  spot,  we  were  assured,  for  the  highest 
of  high  tides,  rips,  and  bores.  This  might  be 
so,  — we  hoped  it  was,  —  but  we  did  not  go  to 
see.  We  nad  pursued  rips  and  bores  to  the 
limits  of  human  endurance,  and  if  they  were 
at  Maitland  —  well,  we  sincerely  hoped  they 
would  stay  there. 

Out  of  Truro  we  left  the  desolate  waste  of 
stunted  firs  and  loose  stones  and  went  speed- 
ing along  "he  shores  of  a  river  with  bright  red 

banks,  where  maples,  oaks,  and  birches  mingled 

148 


-^"\ 


'Toward  Cai)e  Breton 

I 

with  the  dark  evergreens.  The  way  grew 
wilder,  and  we  had  the  exhilarating  feeling  that 
at  last  we  were  getting  away  from  the  beaten 
track  of  the  tourist. 

Great  beds  of  tilted  and  folded  rock  strata 
rose  above  the  train ;  all  sorts  of  geological 
ft  mations  thrust  themselves  into  our  notice. 
The  rocks  here  are  not  concealed  and  covered 
jealously  from  the  inquisitive  eye,  as  they  are 
on  most  of  the  surface  of  the  earth,  but  they 
stand  forth  to  be  looked  at. 

Even  in  the  swift  passing  of  the  train  we 
saw  enough  to  make  us  bow  before  the  mighty 
forces  of  fire  and  ice  that  so  wonderfully  had 
rolled  up  the  rocks  like  scrolls  to  be  read,  bent 
the  strata  of  stone  as  though  they  had  been 
of  parchment,  and  opened  the  secret  places, 
scooping  out  valleys  here  and  burying  moun- 
tains there. 

Then  about  us  the  hills  rose,  —  hills  of  stone, 
also  the  work  of  the  colossal  forces  that  yet 
slumber  in  the  heart  of  the  earth.  Time  had 
covered  these  hills  with  soil  and  verdure,  how- 
ever ;  and  they  stood  above  and  about  one 
another  in  fine  groupings,  their  noble  slopes 
exquisitely  coloured  with  golden-rod  and  pearly 

149 


■  f 


1(1 


Jl 


I 


' 


'if 


u.m' 


!f i    I 


■r'     r  . 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 

everlasting,  and  where  uncut  they  were  over- 
grown with  silvery,  tawny  grass. 

One  expected  to  see  sheep  scampering  over 
the  near  hills  as  the  train  approached  and  un- 
concernedly nibbling  on  the  distant  ones,  but 
this  was  not  the  case.  Only  here  and  there  a 
woolly  brother  or  two  or  three  were  to  be  seen 
upon  these  exquisite  flower-painted  heights. 

Acres  of  fireweed  had  taken  possession  of 
the  burned  tracts  along  the  side  of  the  rail- 
road, mercifully  covering  the  naked  and  scarred 
earth,  as  is  their  habit,  their  long  pods  curling 
open  in  a  charming  tracery  of  brown  lines  and 
freeing  glistening  clouds  of  silky  white  plumed 
seeds,  to  fly  on  the  wind  and  find  out  other 
sore  spots  that  needed  their  redeeming  presence. 
The  earth  was  not  greatly  harassed  by  culti- 
vation ;  grass  grew  freely,  making  now  a  tawny 
background  to  the  coloured  patterns  of  golden- 
rod,  asters,  and  everlasting. 

The  little  village  of  Hopewell  lies  among 
the  hills  'n  the  happiest  manner,  in  apparent 
realisation  of  the  wish  expressed  in  its  name. 
Its  houses  are  vine-covered,  as  hope-well  houses 
ought  to  be,  and  there  are  flowers  to  profusion 
in  the  dooryards,  —  real  Digby  flowers. 

150 


'Toward  Cape  Breton 

We  had  undoubtedly  entered  a  new  world. 
The  depressing  sense  of  commonplaceness  had 
disappeared ;  life  began  to  be  again  original  and 
beautiful.  The  houses  were  picturesque,  and 
so  were  the  well-sweeps  that  stood  against  the 
sky. 

There  appeared  distant  blue  highlands 
beyond  the  foreground  of  tawny  hillsides. 
Autumn  tints  were  beginning  to  soften  the 
woods  on  all  sides ;  and  a  long  irregular  lake 
sparkled  down  below  us,  with  curving  shores 
and  fairy-like  islands  on  its  blue  bosom,  the 
whole  enveloped  in  a  haze  like  that  which 
comes  in  Indian  summer. 

The  country  began  to  look  unfamiliar  and 
a  little  foreign.  The  brakeman's  name  was 
Sandy,  and  when  he  called  out  West  Bemigo- 
mish^  with  the  accent  on  the  last  syllable, 
and  with  a  Scotch  flavour  difficult  to  transmit, 
we  knew  we  had  passed  beyond  the  petty  cares 
of  a  vapid  civilisation  and  were  indeed  nearing 
those  dangerous  mountain  passes, those  marshes 
and  Scotch  highlands  of  which  we  had  heard 
and  long  had  dreamed. 

We  sped  past  more  rounded  hills,  often 
shaven  and  shorn  of  their  hay,  and  often  lovely 

151 


! 

I 

4 


\  \\ 


m 


.  II 


r 


I  \ 


^s^ 


njtil 


■■'  tt-.o-.iJiaU.i.ijM''  b 


!.    . 


;i'  i  -t 


?>■' 


«  u  < 


% 


n  ' 


i 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 

with  their  fleecy  uncut  grass  exquisitely  inter- 
mingled with  golden-rod,  aster,  and  ever- 
lasting. 

"  Merigoww^  /  "  Sandy's  pleasant,  sonorous 
voice  announced  the  getting-oiF  place  for  the 
village  which  is  not  in  sight,  hut  which  we  hope 
is  as  attractive  as  its  name,  lying  as  it  does  at 
the  mouth  of  the  deep-blue  bay  that  comes 
close  enough  for  us  to  admire. 

MerigowwA.'  One  should  hear  Sandy  an- 
nounce this,  to  get  an  idea  of  what  the  word 
can  contain  of  joyousness  and  jollity.  It  rings 
out  the  merriest  of  any  towns'  names  I  ever 
heard;  and  if  Merigo^/j>^  is  half  as  agreeable 
as  the  sound  of  its  name  as  delivered  by  Sandy 
the  brakeman,  I  for  one  should  like  to  live 
there. 

Beyond  Merigomish  the  mountains  rise  close 
at  hand.  They  are  not  p^rand  or  terrifying,  but 
they  ascend  with  an  ample  serenity  that  is 
restful.  They  are  wooded  for  the  most  part 
with  spruces  and  firs,  lightened,  however,  by  ex- 
panses of  bright-green  deciduous  trees.  One 
needs  evergreens  to  bring  out  the  quality  of 
the  lighter  greens,  and  also  by  their  severity  of 
form  to  give  character  to  the  nearer  hills.     In 

152 


i  I , 


Toward  Cape  Breton 

the  distance  their  shapes  are  lost,  and  their  dark 
green  makes  black  masses  like  deep  shadows  in 
the  midst  of  the  lighter  foliage. 

We  left  the  mountains  only  to  find  them 
again  a  little  farther  on.  The  near  farmhouses 
looked  pretty  and  comfortable,  and  there  was 
an  occasional  apple-tree  bearing  very  small 
apples,  as  though  it  knew  what  was  expected 
of  it,  and  would  fulfil  its  duty  as  best  it  could, 
though  its  hard-borne  fruit  was  "  apple "  in 
form  only. 

And  then,  beyond  the  mountains,  up  against 
the  sky,  lay  distant  blue  highlands  like  a  dream 
in  their  loveliness. 

Nearer  to  the  mountain  sped  the  train,  until 
we  found  ourselves  climbing  the  side  of  it  and 
looking  across  the  mist-filled  valleys  of  another 
mountain,  its  sides  all  sheep-coloured  or  clothed 
with  fir-trees. 

We  hastened  through  a  continually  chang- 
ing hill  country  that  raised  high  our  hopes  of 
Cape  Breton,  for  the  landscape  grew  more  in- 
teresting as  we  went  on. 

We  left  the  mountains,  and  the  country 
settled  into  a  rounded  hilliness,  always  agree- 
able and  always  covered  with  the  soft  green 


m 


wll  n' 


:'(: 


y.-'-a 


^1 


u 


''A 

i 

1 

\ 

#1 

V. 

Down  North  and  Up  Along 

plush  of  shorn  meadows  or  the  silvery,  tawny 
grass. 

At  one  place  we  passed  a  village  lying  in  the 
stony  bed  of  an  ancient  water-course,  the  little 
silver  stream  purling  adown  its  spine  being 
the  only  remnant  of  a  once  mighty  torrent 
that  had  carved  out  the  valley.  Instead  of 
the  flood  of  long  ago  elm-trees  now  occupy 
the  dry  river-bed.  They  stood  about  the 
houses,  fair,  foreign  forms  in  this  stern  land  of 
fir-trees. 

Antigo«/V^.'  the  accent  of  all  these  names 
ending  in  nish  or  mish  is  on  the  last  syllable. 
Sandy  sings  it  out  powerfully,  but  it  does  not 
dance  like  the  light-hearted  Merigomish. 

It  is  a  pleasant  enough  place,  but  one  might 
pass  it  unheeded,  did  one  not  know  that  here 
dwells  the  Bishop  of  Arichat,  that  here  is  the 
St.  Francis  Xavier  College,  and  here  the  Cathe- 
dral of  St.  Ninian,  one  of  the  finest  in  Canada. 
Here,  too,  are  large  cheese-factories  that  minis- 
ter to  the  temporal  needs  of  the  people.  Here, 
moreover,  the  people  are  descendants  of  the 
Scotch  Highlanders  who  settled  these  shores 
in  the  early  part  of  the  century,  and  here  the 
wild  Gaelic  speech  may  yet  be  heard,  the  cathe- 

154 


'"V«^'»■l.•^A-lKl<^■.JK•••-'»  . 


Spinning 


hi 


m 


.11 


I' 
iii 


i  ( 


,1     ;-.i 


L- 


'  '    ,< 


f'"l! 


r    \ 


I  I 


■=     5: 


1 

'!l| 

rf 

J 

1  ^j 

- 

i  ' 

' 

.    i 

1 

[  * 

M' 

I 

Toward  Cape  Breton 

dral  services  being  part  of  the  time  conducted 
in  that  tongue.  Considering  all  this,  it  is  not 
surprising  that  Antigonish  is  a  large  settlement. 
It  is  said  to  draw  a  large  part  of  its  revenue 
from  its  foggy  Newfoundland  brethren  whom 
it  supplies  with  cheese  and  other  provisions  — 
at  a  good  profit. 

We  stayed  only  a  moment  at  Antigonish,  but 
sped  away  and  away  and  past  a  blue  lake  at  the 
foot  of  blue  hills.  The  haymakers  were  busy 
on  its  marshy  shores  with  "he  last  cutting  of 
the  reason,  women  with  turned-up  petticoats 
and  bright  handkerchiefs  over  their  heads,  and 
men  plying  the  decadent  scythe. 

Marshy  lakes  and  low-lying  hills,  beautiful 
in  the  light  of  a  poetic  day,  made  charming 
this  part  of  the  journey,  and  then  of  a  sudden 
the  sea  came  into  view,  deep  blue  in  the  hazy 
atmosphere  with  distant  shores  of  heavenly 
colouring. 

Straight  poplars  and  venerable  willows 
greeted  us  as  we  entered  the  Acadian  village 
of  Tracadle.  Seen  in  this  light,  with  the  en- 
chanting blues  of  the  distant  sea  and  the  near 
inlets,  with  the  fair  shores  and  the  picturesque 
group  of  gray-shingled  buildings,  the  monastery 

155 


■H 


I 


if- 


K( 


Down  No7'th  and  Up  Along 

of  the  Trappist  Brothers,  Tracadie  seemed  the 
fairest  of  all  the  fair  sights  we  had  seen  that 
day   or  in  many  a  day. 

It  is  wonderful  what  loveliness  a  certain  light 
can  give  to  the  scene  upon  which  it  falls.  That 
day  of  days,  with  a  golden  haze  in  the  air  that 
obscured  nothing,  but  lent  glow  and  colour  to 
everything,  the  hills  and  towns  were  enchant- 
ing, and  Tracadie,  as  we  came  upon  it  bathed 
in  the  afternoon  light,  might  have  been  a  vision 
of  the  Elysian  Fields. 

Later  the  same  country  was  traversed  on  a 
dull,  dead  day  when  everything  looked  real, 
when  the  landscape  lay  flat  and  no  golden  light 
and  atmospheric  life  made  ethereal  the  hills  and 
valleys,  and  Tracadie  the  beautiful  had  van- 
ished ;  we  could  scarcely  believe  the  evidence  of 
the  time-table,  the  name  of  the  station,  and 
Sandy's  confirmatory  announcement,  when  we 
saw  Tracadie  bereft  of  her  halo.  Beautiful 
delusion  of  the  atmosphere,  could  one  but 
always  travel  when  sun  and  air  were  in  loving 
dalliance. 

The  events  of  individual  human  life  are  not 
very  noticeable  from  the  window  of  a  railway 
train,  but  one  little  drama  we  saw  enacted  by 

156 


>m 


Toward  Cape  Breton 

the  wayside.  A  tiny  cottage  stood  on  a  hill- 
top near  the  track ;  and  in  the  dooryard  sat 
an  old  man  and  an  old  woman,  at  work  upon 
something,  we  could  not  see  what.  As  the 
train  swept  past,  the  old  man  stood  erect  and, 
raising  both  arms  above  his  head,  waved  fran- 
tically. The  engine  responded  with  a  shrill 
salute,  whereupon  the  old  man  bent  himself  in 
a  profound  courtesy  almost  to  the  earth.  We 
flew  on  wondering,  and  presently  Sandy  an- 
nounced "  Harbour  au  Bouche  "  with  a  queer 
Scotch  accent  to  the  French  name.  We  were 
less  interested  in  Harbour  au  Bouche  than  in 
Cape  Porcupine,  a  bold  headland  higher  than 
Blomidon,  and,  one  should  think,  worthy  of  a 
more  dignified  title,  for  while  one  is  willing  to 
allow  picturesqueness  to  a  porcupine,  no  one 
would  think  of  claiming  dignity  for  that  spiny 
act  of  nature.  Cape  Porcupine  was  outlined 
against  the  blue  sea,  and  in  a  few  moments  we 
reached  that  sea,  and  also  Port  Mulgrave,  the 
end  of  the  road. 

We  stood  upon  Canso's  shore  gazing  across 
at  Cape  Breton,  the  goal  of  our  desire.  The 
Gut  of  Canso  it  is  that  makes  an  island  of 
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XII 
BADDECK 

CAPE  BRETON  ISLAND  is  the  wild 
and  rocky  portion  of  northern  Nova 
Scotia,  which  seems  intended  for  a 
bulwark  against  the  northeast  storms 
that  come  down  past  Newfoundland,  which 
lies  a  few  miles  away  from  its  northern  point. 

The  island  is  cleft  nearly  in  two  by  the  sea. 
Its  central  portion  is  a  deep  valley  filled  with 
salt  water  and  affording  safe  anchorage  to  ships 
that  come  in  through  the  Great  Bras  d'Or 
Channel,  a  narrow  arm  of  the  sea  making  down 
from  the  northeast.  Parallel  to  this  is  another 
channel,  the  Little  Bras  d'Or,  through  which 
only  the  smaller  vessels  pass. 

Many  bays  and  inlets  are  given  off  from  the 
central  basin,  the  southernmost  and  broadest 
portion  of  which  is  called  the  Great  Bras  d'Or 
Lake,  while  north  of  that  and  partly  separated 
from  it  by  a  point  of  land  is  the  Little  Bras 
d'Or  Lake. 

The  Bras  d'Or  lakes  and  their  branches 
almost  cut  Cape  Breton  in  two,  for  St.  Peter's 

158 


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Baddeck 


Inlet  at  the  southeast  corner  of  the  Great  Bras 
d'Or  Lake  comes  within  half  a  mile  of  break- 
ing through  the  land  into  the  sea  at  the  south. 

What  nature  did  not  quite  accomplish,  man 
did  ;  and  a  ship  canal,  cut  through  the  isthmus, 
has  divided  Cape  Breton  into  two  main  islands, 
besides  converting  the  Bras  d'Or  lakes  into 
a  safe  water-way  for  vessels  wishing  to  pass 
between  the  north  and  the  south  coasts. 

The  country  of  the  easternmost  island  thus 
formed  has  a  very  broken  coast  and  is  by  far 
the  best  known.  On  its  northern  coast  is 
Sydney  Harbour,  said  to  be  one  of  the  finest 
in  the  world,  only  that  it  is  blocked  by  ice  for 
several  months  in  the  year.  Near  the  mouth 
of  the  harbour  are  the  coal  mines  that  have 
made  this  part  of  the  country  profitable  and 
have  drawn  to  it  a  comparatively  large  popu- 
lation. At  the  head  of  the  harbour  is  the 
flourishing  town  of  Sydney,  and  southeast  of 
that  on  the  coast  is  the  site  of  the  famous  town 
of  Louisburg  that  played  so  important  a  part 
in  the  wars  between  France  and  England. 

Louisburg  was  built  by  the  French  shortly 
after  the  Treaty  of  Utrecht,  itc  location  on  a 
point  of  land  to  the  south  of  a  fine  harbour 

159 


■  11 


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IMP; 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 

being  admirable  for  fortification.  Stone  walls 
thirty  feet  high,  on  which  were  parapets  and 
towers,  and  around  which  was  a  moat  eighty 
feet  wide,  protected  the  town  on  the  land  side. 
On  the  side  toward  the  sea  it  was  guarded  by 
forts  in  the  harbour. 

This  "  Dunkirk  of  America  "  was  a  constant 
menace  to  the  English,  and  after  twice  passing 
into  their  hands  it  was  finally  levelled  to  the 
ground  by  them  in  1760,  thus  relieving  them 
of  the  expense  of  maintaining  it,  and  making  it 
impossible  for  it  to  become  again  a  rallying 
point  for  the  enemy.  All  that  now  remains  of 
the  once  proud  French  capital  are  a  few  grass- 
covered  mounds.  A  little  fishing  village  oc- 
cupies its  site,  and  Louisburg  is  but  a  name 
and  a  memory  of  the  past. 

The  western  coast  of  Cape  Breton  has  no 
harbours,  and  the  country  is  very  rugged  and 
mountainous,  particularly  the  northern  part. 
To  the  west  of  the  Bras  d'Or  lakes  lies  the 
"  Margaree  country,"  famous  for  its  salmon- 
fishing.  This  side  of  the  island  is  but  thinly 
populated,  particularly  the  peninsula  to  the 
north,   which    is    a    plateau    surrounded   by 

mountains. 

160 


Baddeck 


This  plateau,  which  is  about  eighty  miles 
long,  is  known  to  the  people  of  the  locality 
as  Cape  North,  although  the  Cape  North  of 
the  maps  is  a  bold  headland  that  stands  with 
its  base  in  the  sea  at  the  extreme  northern 
point  of  the  plateau. 

Few  people  visit  this  very  interesting  pe- 
ninsula. It  is  not  easy  to  visit,  and  its  attrac- 
tions as  a  rule  are  unknown  to  the  traveller. 
It  is  peopled  by  Scotch  Highlanders,  and  al- 
though it  is  traversed  by  that  highest  achieve- 
ment of  civilisation,  the  telegraph,  it  has  not 
been  "  civilised "  to  any  great  extent. 

Steam-mills  and  manufactories  in  the  busy 
world  outside  have  won  the  people  from  grind- 
ing their  own  oats  to  buying  ready-made  oat- 
meal, and  from  spinning  and  weaving  all  of 
their  own  cloth  to  using  more  or  less  of  the 
cheap  stuffs  sent  to  them  from  Halifax ;  but 
on  the  whole  they  live  very  much  as  they 
did  before  steam  and  electricity  metamor- 
phosed life  for  so  much  of  the  world. 

He  who  enters  Cape  Breton  by  way  of  Port 
Hawkesbury,  across  the  Gut  of  Canso,  will 
very  likely  be  disappointed.  He  certainly 
will    if   he   expects   to   step   at    once  into   a 


II 


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Down  North  and  Up  Along 

region  of  wild  mountains  and  picturesque 
Highlanders. 

There  are  no  such  things  at  Port  Hawkes- 
bury  ;  on  the  contrary,  the  country  is  scrubby 
and  uninteresting,  and  the  Gut  of  Canso,  as 
one  crosses  it  in  a  wheezy  little  steamer,  is  a 
disappointing  Gut  to  the  tourist,  not  at  all 
worthy  of  its  uncommon  and  confident  name. 
Its  principal  virtue  is  its  depth,  —  a  wholly 
commercial  virtue. 

That  it  is  a  deep  Gut,  however,  and  has 
always  —  since  the  coming  of  the  white  man 
—  been  the  principal  passage  for  ships  sailing 
between  the  Atlantic  Ocean  and  the  Gulf  of 
St.  Lawrence,  did  not  commend  it  to  us. 

Three  miles  down  the  coast  toward  the 
Gulf  of  St.  Lawrence  is  Port  Hastings,  equally 
uninteresting  until  one  discovers  that  it  pos- 
sesses a  historic  importance  out  of  all  propor- 
tion to  its  looks,  for  here  the  first  Atlantic 
cable  crossed  the  Gut  of  Canso.  The  first 
transatlantic  cable  was  laid  from  the  coast  of 
Ireland  to  the  east  coast  of  Nev/foundland, 
over  the  "  telegraphic  plateau "  that  provi- 
dentially crosses  the  ocean  for  its  support,  and 

in  1858  the  first  message  successfully  crossed 

162 


^ 


Ni< 


Baddeck 


the  sea.  This  message  was  transmitted  by 
telegraph  and  cable  from  Newfoundland  to 
Aspy  Bay  on  the  northern  part  of  Cape 
Breton  Island,  and  from  there  telegraphed  to 
Port  Hastings. 

Cape  Breton  Island  lies  in  the  line  of  the 
shortest  distance  by  sea  between  Europe  and 
America;  and  so,  remote  as  it  is  from  the 
great  cities,  it  was  one  of  the  first  places  to 
be  traversed  by  telegraph-wires,  in  order  to 
transfer  the  cable  messages  receivede  at  Aspy 
Bay. 

From  Port  Hawkesbury  to  Sydney  there 
is  a  railroad  which  crosses  the  water  at  the 
head  of  the  Great  Bras  d'Or  Lake,  where  the 
channel  is  contracted,  and  where  is  situated  a 
small  hamlet  called  Grand  Narrows. 

The  country  between  Port  Hawkesbury  and 
Grand  Narrows  is  rough  and  dreary-looking, 
with  much  gypsum  cropping  out  white  and 
ghostly  in  the  wilderness.  As  we  approached 
Grand  Narrows,  we  got  cheering  glimpses  of 
the  blue  Bras  d'Or,  and  at  the  hamlet  itself 
uprising  hills  and  blue  water  revived  our 
spirits. 

We  left  the  train  to  continue  its  course  to 

163 


'.  '  I 


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Down  North  and  Up  Along 

Sydney,  for  we  were  not  bound  that  way. 
Others  might  go  on  to  prosperous  Sydney 
and  historical  Louisburg;  but  as  for  us,  we 
preferred  to  step  aboard  the  little  steamer 
ready  to  puff  its  way  through  the  shining 
Bras  d'Or  waters  to  Baddeck. 

There  is  little  tide  in  the  Bras  d'Or  lakes. 
Their  entrance  does  not  receive  the  waters 
freely  enough  to  cause  them  to  pile  up,  as  is 
the  case  in  the  Bay  of  Fundy ;  on  the  con- 
trary, the  force  of  the  rising  tide  is  dissipated 
before  the  water  gets  into  this  inland  sea 
which  lies  in  its  land-bound  basin,  calm  and 
peaceful. 

The  Bras  d'Or  lakes  are  pleasant  sheets 
of  water  with  pretty  wooded  shores,  though 
on  the  whole  the  scenery  is  not  remarkable. 
It  is  very  peaceful  and  pleasing,  however,  and 
there  are  many  lovely  coves  and  points  of 
land  along  the  shore.  And  there  is  always 
the  invigorating  northern  air  to  fill  one  with 
its  refreshing  life. 

Baddeck  lies  on  the  shores  of  an  inlet  be- 
hind a  point  of  land  that  separates  it  from 
the  Little  Bras  d'Or  Lake.     We  found  it  the 

simple  sleepy  hamlet  we  had  hoped  for.     Its 

164 


I 


HA 


Baddeck 


one  street  was  unpaved,  and  Its  shops  wore 
a  submissive  air  of  having  done  no  business 
for  several  generations  —  with  one  exception. 
There  is  one  store  of  general  merchandise  of 
such  modern  aspect  and  such  activity  as  to 
seem  wholly  out  of  place  in  Baddeck. 

But  on  the  whole  the  village  preserved  the 
same  Sunday-like  serenity  that  so  puzzled  the 
genial  author  of  "  Baddeck  and  that  Sort  of 
Thing,"  since  whose  visit  years  enough  have 
passed  to  revolutionise  "American"  politics 
and  see  the  rise  and  fall  of  more  than  one  large 
"American"  city,  yet  there  sits  Baddeck  on 
thz  shore  of  her  Bras  d'Or,  just  as  she  sat 
then,  excepting  that  the  old  jail  has  made  way 
for  a  new  one.  It  was  explained  to  us  that 
the  last  prisoners  put  in  the  old  one  had  dug 
holes  in  the  wall  and  got  out ;  to  further  in- 
quiry our  informant  answered  apologetically 
that  he  did  n't  think  there  were  any  prisoners 
in  the  jail  now,  but  added,  as  though  to  vin- 
dicate the  honour  of  the  town,  that  they  some- 
times had  one. 

Baddeck  is  just  as  good  and  just  as  quiet 
to-day  as  it  ever  was,  v/ith  the  exception  of 
its  one  flourishing  store ;  and  that  no  doubt  is 

165 


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Down  North  a7id  Up  Along 

the  result  of  "  American  "  influence,  for  there 
is  a  large  house  on  the  point  known  as  Red 
Head,  across  the  water,  and  from  a  tall  flag- 
staff near  it  floats  the  stars  and  stripes.  It  is 
the  residence  of  Mr.  Alexander  G.  Bell,  the 
inventor  of  the  Bell  telephone  ;  and  some  two 
miles  or  more  up  the  road  to  the  north  are 
two  or  three  other  houses  from  whose  tall  flag- 
staff's floats  the  emblem  of  our  kind  of  freedom. 
In  one  lives  Mr.  George  Kennan,  not  beloved 
by  the  Czar  of  Russia,  and  every  summer  a 
greater  or  less  number  of  citizens  from  the 
United  States  find  their  way  to  the  cool 
breezes  of  Baddeck. 

Yes,  there  is  one  other  "  Improvement"  at 
Baddeck,  a  brick  custom-house  and  post-office 
that  we  at  first  mistook  for  the  jail. 

There  is  a  curious  sense  of  disjointedness 
about  Baddeck  and  its  surroundings.  The 
houses  seem  set  around  anywhere,  and  the  Bras 
d'Or  shares  the  general  sense  of  confusion. 

The  water-view  ought  to  be  beautiful,  with 
points  of  land  reaching  into  the  lake,  islands 
in  the  channel,  and  between  the  points  of  land 
a  broad  opening  across  the  main  body  of  water. 
But  there  is  lacking  that  necessary  something 

i66 


Baddeck 


we  call  "  composition;"  things  are  not  placed 
quite  right  with  respect  to  one  another,  and 
the  proportions  are  not  good.  Such  is  the  im- 
pression one  gets  from  the  village  itself,  but 
on  the  higher  land  back  of  the  village  there 
are  points  of  view  from  which  Baddeck  on  the 
water's  edge,  with  its  diversified  water-view  in 
the  background,  is  charming  indeed. 

Whether  Baddeck  is  old  or  young  depends 
upon  the  point  of  view.  In  1793  it  had  ten 
white  inhabitants,  which  is  ten  more  than  Chi- 
cago had  at  the  same  time.  But  Chicago  had 
something  of  an  agaric  nature  which  in  litde 
more  than  half  a  century  has  caused  it  to  spring 
to  the  ungainly  size  of  over  a  million,  while 
Baddeck  has  had  a  slow  and  solid  growth  of 
nine  hundred  within  a  century. 

Baddeck's  first  inhabitants  were  disbanded 
soldiers,  and  her  people  now  are  largely  com- 
posed of  the  Scotch  who  have  moved  to  this 
part  of  Cape  Breton.  The  names  over  her 
shop  doors  are  Rory  McLeod,  Sandy  McLane, 
Murdoch  McPherson,  or  similar  Scotch  cog- 
nomens. The  place  is  largely  Presbyterian, 
though  a  little  building  still  gathers  the  people 
of  the  Church  of  England  under  its  wing. 

167 


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Down  North  and  Ui>  Alo 


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\     > 


The  Presbyt'jrian  Church,  large  and  barn- 
like, stands  on  the  hill  behind  the  town,  and 
there  is  still  observed  the  custom  of  repeating 
the  services  in  Gaelic,  —  for  the  back-country 
people  have  not  forgotten  their  mother-tongue  ; 
in  fict,  many  of  the  old  people  know  no  other. 

The  difference  between  Sunday  and  other 
days  at  Baddeck  is  not  observable  in  the  in- 
creased stillness  of  the  place,  —  that  is  not 
necessary  even  for  Sunday,  —  but  that  one  can 
then  go  to  church.  One  can  go  to  the  Pres- 
byterian church  and  listen  to  a  Gaelic  service, 
which  is  what  every  stranger  does. 

Sometimes  an  English  service  precedes  the 
Gaelic,  which  makes  the  meeting  rather  long, 
but  sometimes  proceedings  begin  —  and  end  — 
with  a  Gaelic  prayer-meeting,  which  was  the 
case  the  day  we  went. 

The  congregation,  composed  mainly  of 
elderly  and  unlettered  back-country  folk,  con- 
tained few  young  people  and  fewer  children. 
The  leader,  who  was  not  unlettered  and  who 
had  a  fine  voice,  opened  the  meeting  by  reading 
in  Gaelic.  Then  gaunt  men  rose  and  prayed, 
standing  perfectly  still  and  betraying  no  emo- 
tion in  voice  or  by  gesture.     They  spoke  in 

i68 


r*.  i 


Baddeck 


low  mumbling  tones  that  to  us  soon  became  a 
monotonous  drone  of  unfamiliar  sounds. 

One  by  one  they  got  up  and  prayed  and  sat 
down,  until  we  began  to  weary  exceedingly 
from  sitting  still  so  long  on  the  hard  wooden 
seats,  and  were  inconsistently  thankful  for 
the  law  which  excludes  women  from  also 
taking  part  in  public  services.  Fortunately 
the  praying  was  interspersed  by  singing,  which 
caused  us  for  the  time  to  forget  weariness 
and  to  become  lost  in  wonder,  if  not  in 
admiration. 

The  leader  sang  metrical  Psalms  in  a  voice 
that  was  not  without  dignity  and  music;  the 
melody  was  entirely  unknown  to  us,  and  at  a 
curious  up-slide  at  the  end  of  each  phrase,  the 
congregation  joined  in  a  chorus  difficult  to  de- 
scribe. There  came  a  deep  crash  and  burr  of 
male  voices,  embroidered,  so  to  speak,  by  the 
most  astonishing  and  unrelated  high  soprano 
embellishments  from  the  women.  It  was 
amazing,  unexpectedly  and  finely  barbaric,  re- 
taining a  strong  flavour  of  vanished  centuries 
when  all  the  wild  northern  hordes  struggled 
for  supremacy,  and  when  the  inspiration  to 
their  music  was  the  crashing  of  waves  on  the 

169 


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H    'I 


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Down  North  and  Up  Along 

wild  coast,  the  shrieking  of  the  tempest,  and 
the  cries  of  war.  We  both  thought  of  wind 
and  water  surging  about  a  rocky  coast  as  we 
listened,  and  there  was  also  a  suggestion  of  the 
droning  of  bagpipes  in  the  male  voices. 

When  the  services  finally  ended,  the  collec- 
tion was  taken,  and  it  amounted  to  only  a  few 
large  copper  pennies. 

There  were  Indians  at  Baddeck.  They 
come  in  the  summer  as  to  a  watering-place,  for 
change  and  recreation  and  to  glean  an  occa- 
sional penny  from  the  "  American "  visitors, 
and  to  sell  baskets  of  their  own  manufacture 
to  whoever  is  in  need  of  baskets.  Their  en- 
campment was  on  a  steep  hillside  on  the  edge 
of  the  village.  It  consisted  of  half-a-dozen 
wigwams  covered  with  birch-bark  and  shaped 
very  much  like  the  pointed  firs  that  surrounded 
them. 

Thin  columns  of  blue  smoke  were  rising 
from  two  or  three  camp-fires  one  morning  as 
we  drew  near,  and  we  saw  an  iron  pot  hung 
over  each  fire  by  a  cord  from  two  sticks  set  up 
cross-wise.  Here  was  genuine  Indian  at  last ! 
but  not  unmarred  by  contact  with  the  dominant 
race,  after  all,  —  for  they  were  unbecomingly 

170 


...  4 


Baddeck 


clad  in   the   cast-ofF  clothing    of  their   white 
neighbours. 

The  romance  of  Micmac  Indian  life  is  very 
greatly  enhanced  by  distance.  They  live  al- 
most as  simply  as  wild  animals,  but  they  are 
not  nearly  as  clean.  Why  is  it  one  never 
sees  a  dirty  squirrel  and  never  a  clean  Indian  ? 
Unless,  indeed,  both  have  the  misfortune  to 
be  captured  by  civilised  man,  when  the  method 
of  their  lives  may  become  reversed,  and  the 
squirrel  through  vile  captivity  grows  dirty, 
while  the  Indian  becomes  clean  through  en- 
forced scrubbing  by  the  Government. 

There  was  a  white  child  in  this  camp,  a  little 
girl  of  seven  or  eight,  and  the  wildest-eyed  child 
we  ever  had  seen.  She  was  dirty  like  the  rest, 
and  at  our  approach  fled  as  though  the  bad 
spirit  were  after  her.  We  saw  her  later  caress- 
ing a  fat  squaw,  who  vigorously  elbowed  her 
away.  We  learned  her  story,  which  was  not  a 
pleasant  one,  her  own  mother  having  given  her 
to  the  Indians.  Poor  baby,  with  her  bright  yel- 
low hair,  and  her  skin  gleaming  white  in  spite  of 
the  dirt,  what  is  to  be  her  fate,  brought  up  like 
a  little  animal  in  the  midst  of  a  race  whose 
every  impulse  is  opposed  to  her  own  ? 

171 


|i 


u: 


'    (} 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 

Besides  a  number  of  Indian  children,  there 
were  little  dogs  about  the  camp,  as  miserable- 
looking  as  starved  little  dogs  could  be,  and 
there  was  a  kitten  with  a  woolly  coat  like  a 
sheep.  It  was  a  desperate-looking  kitten,  and 
who  can  tell  whether  its  woolly  coat  was  due 
to  the  vermin  that  certainly  infested  it,  or  to 
some  un-catlike,  and  ghoulish  foreknowledge 
such  as  is  said  to  be  possessed  by  potato-skins, 
corn-husks,  and  gophers,  of  a  hard  winter  which 
must  be  prepared  for. 

As  we  receded  from  the  camp,  the  pointed 
wigwams  shining  white  and  tawny  with  their 
covering  of  birch-bark,  the  blue  lines  of  smoke 
wavering  up  to  the  sky,  the  moving  forms 
of  children,  made  a  picture  pleasant  to  look 
upon. 


173 


m 


XIII 
ENGLISKTOWN 

WE  did  not  go  to  Baddeck  wholly 
for  Baddeck's  sake,  but  as  well  to 
make   it   a   starting-point   for   the 
plateau  to  the  north  which  we  meant 
to  traverse,  roads  permitting,  all  the  way  to  the 
fcold  headland  that  fronts  the  icy  sea  and  ends 
the  land  in  this  direction. 

The  people  there  are  Scotch  Highlanders  of 
good  repute,  they  having  succeeded  an  older 
population  of  bad  fame  and  piratical  habits. 

Cape  North  and  its  Highland  fisher-folk  had 
been  recommended  to  us  at  Parrsboro  by  Mr. 
Gibbons,  a  unique  and  beautiful  character,  pas- 
tor of  the   Church  of  England,  and  lovingly 
called  by  his  people  "Parson  Gibbons."     He 
is  the  only  person  of  Esquimaux  blood,  so  far 
as  we  know,  who  has  made  a  name  for  himself. 
He  wore  an  expression  of  great  sweetness 
and  earnestness,  and  was  a  man  of  so  much 
education  and  culture  that  it  was  a  pleasure  to 
listen    to  him.     His  indomitable  courage  had 

173 


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Down  North  and  Up  Along 

enabled  him  to  surmount  all  obstacles  and  take 
his  place  in  the  field  of  work  he  had  chosen 
and  in  the  society  that  his  education  had  fitted 
him  iox. 

He  had  ministered  iox  a  number  of  years  to 
the  people  of  Cape  North,  as  no  one  had  done 
before,  and  as  no  one  has  done  since.  He 
loved  them,  that  we  could  see,  as  in  his  sym- 
pathetic way  he  told  us  of  them,  of  their  hard 
lives,  their  idiosyncrasies  and  their  virtues,  and 
although  he  had  a  quick  sense  of  humour  there 
was  ever  love  shining  back  of  his  laughter. 
He  mapped  out  the  route  for  us  from  Bad- 
deck  to  the  extreme  end  of  Cape  North,  and 
told  us  where  and  with  whom  to  stay  along  the 
road. 

At  Baddeck,  we  learned  much  of  Parson 
Gibbons'  work,  how  he  had  gone  once  a  month 
the  whole  length  of  Cape  North,  often  walking 
the  distance  of  one  hundred  miles  over  moun- 
tains and  through  swamps.  More  than  once 
he  had  stumbled  into  a  friend's  house,  on  his 
return  from  the  north,  quite  exhausted  and 
with  blood-stained  shoes. 

No  other  name  is  so  well  known  and  so 
loved  on  that  rude  coast,  as  we  were  soon  to 

174 


I, 


M 


u 


Knglishtown 


learn,  for  even  the  faces  of  the  children  that  had 
been  born  since  he  left  lighted  when  we  spoke 
of  him.  His  memory  is  handed  down  to  the 
younger  generations ;  and  all,  old  and  young 
alike,  when  we  were  there,  fondly  believed  that 
he  would  some  day  return  to  them.  But  that 
he  will  not  do,  for  since  this  book  was  begun 
the  brave  and  gentle  spirit  has  passed  from  its 
mortal  toil.  His  death  was  the  result  of  in- 
juries received  when  stopping  a  pair  of  runa- 
way horses,  saving  the  lives  of  those  in  the 
carriage. 

At  one  end  of  the  village  of  Baddeck  stands 
a  little  church  of  unique  appearance,  which  is 
one  of  eight  in  different  parts  of  Cape  Breton 
and  Nova  Scotia  which  the  great  courage  and 
perseverance  of  Parson  Gibbons  had  built, 
some  of  them  in  places  where  another  would 
have  seen  no  possibility  of  erecting  so  much  as 
a  shed. 

We  were  obliged  to  remain  in  Baddeck  for 
several  days,  partly  on  account  of  the  weather, 
and  partly  to  make  the  necessary  preparations 
for  the  peculiar  journey  we  had  undertaken. 

One  cannot  start  into  the  wilderness  without 
forethought,  and  we  had  received  such  contra- 

175 


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Down  North  and  Up  Along 

dictory  information  concerning  the  resources 
for  travellers  "  down  north  "  that  we  determined 
to  take  with  us  the  necessaries  of  life.  In 
other  words,  we  were  to  become  a  pair  of 
gypsies  for  a  couple  of  weeks. 

Of  course  we  had  to  drive,  and  for  this  a 
horse  and  waggon  were  necessary.  A  waggon 
in  which  one  must  take  a  long  journey  is  good 
or  bad  according  to  the  nature  of  its  seat. 
Only  those  who  have  tried  know  how  few 
vehicles  have  seats  that  are  not  a  mortification 
to  the  spirit  of  man  after  he  has  sat  upon  them 
for  three  consecutive  hours.  Now,  to  select  a 
waggon  solely  for  the  comfort  of  its  seat  may 
produce  peculiar  results.  It  did  in  our  case. 
We  desired  to  present  as  respectable  an  ap- 
pearance upon  this  somewhat  Quixotic  journey 
as  circumstances  permitted,  but  circumstances 
did  not  permit  of  anything  better  than  a  small 
and  topless  vehicle  very  much  the  worse  for 
wear,  and  with  what  paint  still  remained  worn 
to  a  dull  and  ashy  gray.  But  it  was  strong 
and  had  a  comfortable  seat. 

It  had  to  be  built  up  in  the  back  to  accom- 
modate our  load ;  and  as  the  addition  was  made 

with  new  boards  which  there  was  no  time  to 

176 


Rnglishtown 


have  painted,  the  result  was  not  quite  what  we 
should  have  been  willing  to  exhibit  to  some  of 
our  —  happily  distant  —  friends  and  relatives. 
But  the  people  of  Cape  Breton  are  not  criti- 
cal; and  as  a  good  many  of  them  do  their 
own  walking,  our  outfit  was  regarded  beyond 
the  town  with  envy  and  as  an  indication  of  very 
great  wealth  and  pride. 

Quite  as  important  as  the  waggon  was  the 
horse ;  and  Mr.  A.,  genial  landlord  of  the  new 
Bras  d'Or  hotel,  introduced  Dan  to  as  as  the 
one  horse  in  all  Baddeck  or  in  all  the  world 
suited  to  our  needs. 

Dan  was  a  rather  small  chestnut  with  a  white 
star  in  his  forehead ;  he  had  a  straight  neck,  a 
tender  mouth,  a  somewhat  mincing  gait,  and 
he  was  a  little  stiff  in  the  legs  upon  first  starting 
out.  He  hated  to  back  and  he  had  a  nervous 
fear  of  the  whip.  But  to  offset  all  this  he  had 
a  large  kind  eye  and  as  true  a  heart  as  ever 
beat  in  the  breast  of  a  horse. 

Appearances  were  certainly  against  the  dear 
old  fellow,  and  we  remember  with  regret  that  we 
rejected  him  after  a  short  trial  drive.  But  Mr. 
A.  assured  us  so  impressively  that  Dan  was 
willing  to  cross  ferries  that  fortunately  for  us 

177 


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Down  North  and  Up  Along 

we  finally  took  him,  though  we  did  it  under 
protest.  We  could  not  then  understand  why 
willingness  to  cross  ferries  should  count  so 
mightily  in  his  favour.  Our  very  narrow- 
minded  idea  of  a  "  ferry,"  based  upon  those  by 
which  one  enters  or  leaves  New  York  City,  was 
to  become  broadened  to  an  extent  we  did  not 
dream  of  then. 

"  Down  North  "  is  applicable  to  any  journey 
northward  from  the  southernmost  point  of 
Nova  Scotia.  "  Up  along,"  like  the  same 
term  on  Cape  Cod,  is  used  of  travelling  along 
the  edge  of  the  land,  that  long  strip  by  the 
sea  which  in  both  Cape  Cod  and  Cape  North 
is  the  portion  most  generally  inhabited.  So 
when  we  left  Baddeck  —  or  perhaps  better,  left 
Englishtown  —  we  might  technically  be  said  to 
be  going  "  up  along." 

A  clear,  cool  morning  dawned  about  the 
middle  of  September.  The  waggon  was  ready  ; 
and  Dan,  shining  from  a  most  unusual  polishing, 
the  last  grooming  he  was  likely  to  get  until  he 
returned  to  his  own  stable,  with  a  strong 
harness  on  his  back  and  new  shoes  on  his  feet, 
v/aited  our  pleasure. 

Into  the  back  of  the  waggon  were  packed  a 

178 


Rnglishtown 


few  necessary  personal  effects  and  also  sundry 
culinary  articles  of  iron  or  tin  and  a  quantity  of 
provisions.  A  white  canvas  cloth,  attached  to 
the  seat,  was  drawn  tightly  over  the  load  at  the 
back,  steadying  and  holding  it  in  place,  and 
incidentally  giving  it  the  effect  of  a  peddler's 
pack  or  an  emigrant's  outfit.  Mr.  A.  gener- 
ously tied  his  own  fishing-rod  to  the  back  of 
the  seat  with  our  umbrellas,  over  which  were 
thrown  the  bright  new  Halifax  rugs  that  must 
have  felt  a  little  indignant  at  the  figure  they 
were  made  to  cut.  M.'s  sketching  materials 
stood  against  the  dashboard,  and  under  our 
feet,  to  her  dismay,  was  a  tin  can  of  worms 
which  the  stable  boy  at  the  last  moment  con- 
tributed for  bait,  also  a  wrench,  and  a  bottle 
of  oil  to  grease  the  wheels. 

As  there  was  no  room  for  it  inside,  Mr.  A. 
had  dexterously  with  a  long  rope  tied  a  bushel 
of  oats  and  "  cut  feed  "  in  a  bag  to  the  back 
springs,  not  improving  their  action  thereby,  but 
adding  materially  to  the  general  emigrant  effect. 

We  finally  started,  moving  down  the  main 
street  of  Baddeck  with  what  dignity  circum- 
stances permitted,  while  the  Sandys,  Rorys,  and 
Murdochs  stood  at  the  doors  of  the  moribund 

179 


id 


I 


i"! 


It        '       ' 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 

shops  with  their  hands  in  their  pockets,  and 
looked  on,  speechless,  smileless,  and  respectful. 

In  a  few  moments  we  were  out  of  town, 
facing  expectantly  toward  Cape  North,  that 
mysterious  headland  a  hundred  miles  away,  the 
road  to  which  was  said  to  be  wild  and  lonely, 
obstructed  by  mountains  and  marshes,  and 
traversed  by  an  occasional  Highlander.  Be- 
tween us  and  these  perils  we  had  only  Dan, 
with  his  new  shoes,  his  strong  harness,  and  his 
kind  eye. 

We  jogged  along  the  road  to  the  northwest, 
following  an  arm  of  the  Bras  d'Or  that  makes 
up  there  and  is  known  as  Baddeck  Bay. 

We  passed  the  cottages  of  the  stars  and  stripes 
and  bade  adieu  to  them  as  though  they  had  been 
our  friends. 

Miles  of  wild  fir  forest  succeeded  to  the  blue 

shine  of  the  bay.     Moss  bearded  the  trees  and 

carpeted  the    bankti ;    pretty   snowberry  vines 

strayed  over  the  moss.     Innumerable  bridges 

intercepted  our  way,  and  they  were  all  out  of 

repair.     Under    some   scurried    brooks,   while 

others  seemed  their  own  excuse  for  being,  as 

there  was  no  water  under  them  and  no  sign 

that  there  ever  had  been. 

180 


Englishtown 


It  was  at  these  bridges  that  Dan's  virtues  as 
a  highland  traveller  began  to  shine  forth.  If 
his  foot  went  through  a  hole,  he  pulled  it  out 
and  like  a  philosopher  scorned  to  notice  trifles. 
He  had  a  way  of  smelling  of  suspicious  bridges  ; 
and  if  they  exhaled  no  odour  of  security,  he 
gathered  himself  together  and  jumped  over 
them,  the  waggon  and  its  occupants  following, 
not  as  they  would,  but  as  they  must. 

Besides  the  many  little  bridges  that  Dan  could 
jump,  there  were  longer  ones  that  no  horse  could 
have  jumped,  and  beneath  them  and  along  the 
side  of  the  road  through  reaches  of  fir-trees 
dashed  and  tumbled  and  glided  the  wildest, 
loveliest  brooks  we  ever  had  dreamed  of. 

We  went  slowly  along,  enjoying  the  lovely 
road  and  the  bewitching  brooks  until  we  found 
ourselves  hungry.  Then  we  stopped  and  had 
our  first  gypsy  meal  by  the  roadside.  We 
built  a  fire  of  dry  twigs  on  a  pile  of  stones  near 
a  brook  in  a  meadow  where  the  fence  was  down, 
and  felt  very  wild  and  gypsy-like.  True  gyp- 
sies would  have  done  better,  however.  The 
smoke  blew  all  ways  at  once,  and  the  kettle 
insisted  upon  lying  upon  its  side  and  pouring 
the  water  into  the  fire. 

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Down  Norih  and  Up  Along 

We  took  Dan  from  the  waggon ;  and  since  we 
had  forgotten  to  bring  a  halter  we  led  him  into 
the  field  and  bribed  him  by  a  pile  of  oats  and 
cut  feed  to  stand  still.  He  stood  and  ate  the 
feed,  the  grass  beneath  it,  and  the  earth  beneath 
that,  while  we  returned  to  the  unequal  contest 
with  the  fire  and  forgot  all  about  him  until  a 
peculiar  shufHing  noise  brought  our  heads  out 
of  the  smoke  and  fastened  our  startled  gaze 
upon  him,  not  as  we  had  left  him,  but  upside- 
down,  his  new  shoes  sparkling  to  the  sky  and 
his  harness  writhing  about  him. 

He  was  without  doubt  the  happiest  horse  in 
Cape  Breton  at  that  moment,  but  at  our  indig- 
nant approach  he  righted  hiiiiself  in  haste  and 
looked  deprecatingly  at  us  out  of  his  large  kind 
eyes. 

Dinner  was  forgotten  in  the  puzzling  occu- 
pation of  getting  him  to  rights,  and  he  was 
bribed  with  another  supply  of  feed  to  stand  up. 
It  was  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  before  we 
sat  down  to  our  hard-earned  meal,  and  all  we 
succeeded  in  cooking  after  a  long  and  bitter 
fight  with  our  first  camp  fire  was  a  pot  of  coffee. 
Still,  it  paid,  as  any  gypsy  will  understand. 

Having  attached  Dan  to  the  waggon  with  an 

182 


.s. 


Rnglishtown 


optimistic  trust  in  the  goodness  of  misplaced 
straps,  we  went  on  through  another  stretch  of 
fir  woods  smothered  in  brittle  sage-green  moss. 
Then  a  clearing  appeared,  and  we  passed  some- 
body's potato  patch  where  large  crows  were 
pompously  stealing  potatoes.  They  cawed  in 
loud  tones  as  we  drew  nearer,  and  went  on 
coolly  digging  up  their  neighbour's  tubers. 
They  poked  their  stout  beaks  into  a  hill  and 
hauled  forth  a  potato  with  an  unerring  aim 
that   suggested  previous    practice. 

Besides  the  crows  the  woods  were  full  of 
robins.  Such  wild  robins !  They  were  in 
flocks  and  screamed  at  us  and  showed  none  of 
the  amiable  characteristics  of  the  red-breasts  of 
civilisation. 

There  were  squirrels  along  the  lovely  high- 
way, —  tiny  fellows  with  rusty  red  coats  and 
bushy  tails,  that  scolded  us  roundly,  though  we 
were  not  conscious  of  deserving  it. 

We  climbed  a  long,  circuitous,  fir-covered, 
brook-bordered  hill,  at  the  top  of  which  a 
noble  view  of  St.  Anne's  Bay  burst  upon  us. 
From  a  calm  sheet  of  blue  water,  mountains 
rose  in  brooding  beauty,  stretching  away  ?.nd 
away  along  the  sea-coast  to  the  distant  blue 

183 


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Down  North  and  Up  Along 

headland  which  was  far-famed  Smoky,  or  Cape 
Enfume,  as  the  French  called  It  long  ago,  be- 
cause of  the  crown  of  mist  it  usually  wears. 

The  contour  of  the  mountains  opposite 
Englishtown  is  peculiarly  beautiful,  the  lines 
of  the  spurs  as  they  overlap  each  other  are 
fine,  and  the  ever-changing  yet  eternal  moun- 
tains of  beauty  are  repeated  in  reflections  on 
the  water  below. 

We  know  no  lovelier  spot  than  English- 
town,  lying  on  the  lower  swells  of  elevations 
that  rise  almost  as  high  as  do  the  mountains 
across  the  bay. 

Englishtown  is  enveloped  in  a  mantle  of 
romance  besides  that  of  her  beautiful  moun- 
tains and  bay.  One  is  astonished  to  know 
how  old  the  place  is,  and  that  St.  Anne  Bay 
wa3  an  important  and  stirring  fishing  port 
contended  for  by  both  French  and  English 
when  New  York  City  was  still  a  quiet  Dutch 
burg.  Indeed,  the  first  settlements  there  ante- 
date the  founding  of  Port  Royal.  But  St.  Anne's 
history  is  full  of  vicissitudes;  and  though  re- 
peatedly settled  by  the  French  and  English 
alternately,  no  permanent  village  of  any  size 

or  importance  has  as  yet  been  founded  there. 

184 


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Englishtown 


In  1597  the  English  ship  "  Chancewell "  came 
to  grief  in  the  usually  safe  harbour  and  was 
wickedly  pillaged  by  the  French  fishermen 
settled  along  the  coast.  Captain  Leigh,  com- 
mander of  the  "  Chancewell,"  tells  us  that 
"  there  came  aboard  many  shallops  with  great 
store  of  Frenchmen,  who  robbed  and  spoiled  all 
they  could  lay  their  hands  on,  pillaging  the  poor 
men  even  to  their  very  shirts,  and  using  them 
in  savage  manner ;  whereas  they  should  rather 
as  Christians  have  aided  them  in  their  distress." 

In  1629,  two  armed  ships  of  France,  the 
"Great  St.  Andrew"  and  the  "  Marguerite," 
occupied  the  harbour,  and  their  crews,  aided 
by  their  English  prisoners,  built  a  fort  to  com- 
mand the  entrance.  This  fort  was  armed  with 
eight  cannon,  1800  pounds  of  powder,  pikes, 
and  muskets,  and  was  garrisoned  by  forty 
men.  The  arms  of  France  and  of  Cardinal 
Richelieu  were  raised  over  its  walls,  and  a 
chapel  was  erected.  But  before  the  close  of 
the  winter,  disaster  thinned  the  ranks  of  the 
garrison ;  more  than  a  third  of  the  troops  died 
of  scurvy,  and  to  add  to  the  confusion  the 
commandant  assassinated  his  lieutenant  on  the 
parade-ground.     Later,  an  Indian  mission  was 

185 


I 


! 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 

foutulcil  Ikmv  hy  I'^triuh  Jesuits,  hut  prosper- 
ity did  not  attend  tlusc  cHorts,  and  soon  lioth 
garrison  and  mission  were  rcniovcil. 

In  a  French  Iwok,  written  l)y  'I'hoinas 
Pinclion  and  translateil  into  l\nglisli  in  1760, 
we  get  a  very  good  ilescription  of  St.  Anne, 
or  lV)rt  Dauphin,  us  it  was  then  called. 

"  Port  Dauphin  is  a  very  fine  harhiiur,  two  Icapnes 
in  circumference.  It  is  almost  entirely  shut  up  hy  a 
nock  of  land,  which  leaves  only  a  passage  for  one 
vessel  at  a  time.  The  ships  can  hardly  perceive  the 
least  motion  of  the  winds,  the  grounds,  that  surround 
it  on  all  sides,  heing  of  so  great  a  height ;  hesides, 
they  approach  the  shore  as  near  as  they  please  with- 
out danger,  and  the  harhour  is  capable  of  admitting 
vessels  even  of  four  hundred  ton.  The  bay  is  capa- 
cious enough  to  contain  a  thousand  [vessels].  Be- 
fore it  is  the  great  Bay  of  St.  Anne,  covered  to  the 
southeast  by  the  two  islands  of  Ciboux  and  Cape 
Dauphin.  ,  .  .  The  strand  of  Port  Dauphin  is  of 
greater  extent  than  that  of  any  other  harbour  in  the 
island ;  and  notwithstanding  that  there  is  plenty  of 
codfish,  yet  this  is  not  the  only  advantage  of  the 
place;  the  neighbourhood  of  Labrador  [the  Bras  d'Or 
lakes  were  then  called  Labrador]  and  Niganiche  [Ingo- 
nish]  renders  it  easy  for  the  inhabitants  and  the  sav- 
ages to  assemble  upon  necessary  occasions. 

186 


Rnglishtown 


"The  vessels  employed  in  the  fishery  at  Nij^anirhc 
arc  obliged  hy  the  king's  ordinance  to  retire  to  Port 
Dauphin  toward  the  fifteenth  of  August,  because  of 
the  storms  that  rage;  in  that  season.  When  they 
have  got  into  those  harbours,  they  expose  the  cod- 
fish on  shore,  where  nature  seems  to  have  made  a 
bed  for  that  pinpose.  Sometimes  you  sec  a  hundred 
and  fifty  boats  employed  in  this  business." 

It  seems  that  the  French  were  for  some 
time  imdecidcd  as  to  wliether  the  citadel  of 
Louishurg  should  l)e  built  at  Port  Dauphin 
or  on  "  luiglish  Harbour,"  as  Louisburg  har- 
bour was  then  called.  Port  Dauphin  was 
more  impregnable  but  less  convenient,  and 
was  finally  rejected. 

St.  Anne  Bay  is  another  inlet  like  those  two 
long  "arms  of  gold"  that  give  entrance  to  the 
Bras  d'Or  lakes.  It  lies  nearly  parallel  with 
them,  but  does  not  reach  more  than  ten  or 
twelve  miles  into  the  land,  because  of  the 
watershed  which  keeps  it  from  forming  an- 
other arm  to  the  Bras  d'Or  lakes. 

It  was  an  easy  matter  to  sail  from  the  east- 
ern harbours  around  to  St.  Anne;  und  when 
there  was  any  fighting  going  on,  St.  Anne 
seems  never  to  have  been  left  out. 

187 


I  • 


i! 


i\ 


U" 


;   *     ,1 


I 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 

In  1754  the  English  came  around  In  one  of 
their  war-ships,  a  part  of  Commodore  War- 
ren's fleet  then  blockading  Louisburg,  and 
destroyed  all  the  French  settlements  on  St. 
Anne's  Bay. 

Toward  the  end  of  the  eighteenth  century 
there  was  a  remarkable  influx  of  Scotch  High- 
landers to  Cape  Breton  and  at  the  beginning  of 
the  nineteenth  century  ship-load  after  ship-load 
was  landed  on  that  island.  It  is  estimated  that 
between  1802  and  1828  some  25,000  of  these 
people  poured  into  Cape  Breton.  They  were 
turned  out  of  their  homes  in  Scotland  to  make 
way  for  sheep-raising,  that  having  been  found 
more  profitable  than  the  rents  of  the  miserable 
tenantry.  The  refugees  sought  the  new  high- 
lands of  a  more  friendly  world,  where  landlords 
were  not,  and  thus  St.  Anne  and  the  whole  of 
Cape  North  came  to  have  its  present  indus- 
trious and  temperate  population. 

On  the  end  of  the  narrow  spit  of  land  that 
closes  the  harbour  to  the  storms  and  allows  only 
one  ship  at  a  time  to  pass,  a  light-house  now 
stands,  and  another  shines  over  the  sea  from 
one  of  the  Ciboux  Islands. 

Englishtown,  too,  is  the  proud  birthplace  of 

188 


}  i 


of 

lus- 


Eng/ishtown 


a  great  man,  for  here  first  saw  the  light  Angus 
McCaskell,  the  giant,  concerning  whose  life  we 
know  only  what  has  been  told  us  by  the  genial 
and  learned  author  of  "  Baddeck  and  that  Sort 
of  Thing,"  who  ends  his  description  of  the 
great  man  with  the  exclamation,  "  Alas  !  he  has 
passed  away,  leaving  little  influence  except  a 
good  example  of  growth,  and  a  grave  which  is 
a  new  promontory  on  that  ragged  coast  swept 
by  the  winds  of  the  untamed  Atit*rtic." 

We  regret  to  say  we  did  not  visit  his  grave 
nor  his  shoes  nor  sit  in  his  chair ;  we  were  so 
overcome  by  the  unexpected  beauty  of  bay  and 
mountain  that  we  forgot  all  about  the  storied 
dead  until  it  was  too  late  and  we  had  crossed 
Torquil  McLane's  ferry  not  to  return. 

We  entered  Englishtown  in  the  same  lei- 
surely way  we  had  approached  it.  It  consists 
of  half  a  dozen  or  more  houses  placed  not  too 
close  together  along  the  road,  and  we  were  in 
search  of  a  "long  low  house  with  a  black  roof 
standing  on  a  hillside."  Here  lived  Sandy 
McLeod  and  his  family,  and  here  we  hoped  to 
spend  the  night.  Sandy  himself  was  not  at 
home,  nor  yet  Mrs.  Sandy,  but  bonnie  Annie 
was.     To  let  us  in,  she  opened  the  bars  that 

189 


I 


ii 


■   4. 

! 


I 


\  .' 


'  ll 


.K-l 


U    i  i 


I  i 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 

closed  the  gateway  to  the  meadow  at  the 
farther  end  of  which  the  house  stood,  and 
undertook  the  offices  of  hospitality  in  her 
mother's  absence.  Her  mother  had  gone  on 
the  mountains  for  blueberries,  which  was  good 
news  to  hungry  travellers. 

As  there  was  no  one  at  home  but  Annie  and 
a  little  boy,  we,  with  a  confidence  partly  as- 
sumed, undertook  the  deliverance  of  Dan. 

A  "  collar  and  hames  "  is  a  remarkable  in- 
vention not  commonly  used  on  a  single  horse 
excepting  for  heavy  work,  but  it  formed  a  part 
of  our  strong  harness.  The  hames  is  within 
the  comprehension  of  the  average  intellect,  for 
it  unbuckles  and  comes  off,  but  the  collar  does 
not ;  it  does  not  open,  and  is  smaller  than  the 
horse's  head  by  any  ordinary  method  of  meas- 
urements. We  had  exhausted  mathematics 
and  the  patient  Dan's  forbearance ;  the  sunset 
flamed  and  waned  unseen  before  the  inspiration 
seized  us  to  turn  it  around,  then,  presto  !  it 
was  the  shape  of  his  head,  and  off  it  came. 

Dan's  tortured  ears  and  head  being  finally 
released,  to  our  infinite  relief  and  his,  we  min- 
istered to  his  comfort  as  well  as  we  could  in 

the  gathering  darkness,  then  went  to  the  house, 

190 


UJ 


^»« 


1 


Englishto 


wn 


whence  proceeded  an  appetising  odour  of  cook- 
ing clams.  This  was  a  sorrowful  delusion, 
however,  as  it  proceeded  from  a  kettle  of  "  rock- 
weed"  Annie  was  boiling  for  the  pigs. 

The  mother  came  with  a  pail  of  fresh  blue- 
berries and  bade  us  a  cordial  welcome,  and  we 
made  a  hearty  supper  of  bread  and  milk,  and 
blueberries  sweetened  with  brown  sugar,  our 
appetites  quickened  by  the  day  out  of  doors 
and  the  odour  of  steaming  rockweed. 

After  a  night  of  such  sleep  as  comes  only  to 
those  who  have  spent  the  day  in  the  open  air, 
we  wakened  to  a  morning  of  splendour. 

A  neighbour  "tackled"  Dan  for  us,  making 
no  comments  upon  the  state  of  his  rigging,  un- 
tangling and  putting  all  to  rights  and  making 
our  stanch  little  craft  again  seaworthy,  with  the 
deftness  of  a  sailor. 

This  handy  son  of  Neptune  also  mended 
the  holes  the  rope  had  worn  in  the  feed-bag, 
for  a  fine  stream  of  Dan's  precious  provender 
issued  from  each  of  a  number  of  holes  at  every 
motion,  and  we  know  not  how  far  we  had  left 
this  sign  of  our  passing  along  the  lonely  road. 

Meantime  we  talked  to  the  pretty  boy  who 
is  heir  to  the  McLeod  estate,  and  learned  that 

191 


i 


>  'i  i. 


\<, 


'I 


m^X^ 

If  if 

i 

iff 

I*  s 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 

he  was  six,  that  he  did  not  go  to  school, 
though  he  earnestly  assured  us  in  the  dialect 
of  Cape  North,  "  If  I  will  be  seven,  then  I 
might  go,"  meaning  that  when  he  had  attained 
that  mature  age  he  would  go. 


It 


It 


f. 

\ 

192 


s    i 


XIV 
FRENCH    RIVER 

TORQUIL  McLANE'S  ferry  is  the 
notable  instrument  by  means  of  which 
the  traveller  can  find  his  way  out  of 
Englishtown  to  ^he  north. 
Englishtown  lies  opposir  he  narrowest  part 
of  St.  Anne,  which  here  f  be  about  a  mile 
wide,  but  that  providential  tongue  of  land 
must  not  be  forgotten  which  separates  the 
inner  harbour  from  the  outer  bay,  leaving  only 
"a  passage  for  one  vessel  at  a  time,"  and 
making  of  it  a  safe  refuge  in  time  of  war. 

Although  not  at  present  of  military  impor- 
tance, the  tongue  of  land  still  answers  a  very 
good  purpose  in  shortening  the  labours  of 
Torquil,  the  ferryman,  who  is  a  man  of  note 
all  over  Cape  North,  and,  for  that  matter, 
much  farther.  For  whoever  writes  an  article 
or  even  a  letter  about  this  part  of  the  country, 
never  fails  to  adorn  the  same  with  the  pictur- 
esque name  of  Torquil  McLane,  the  English- 
town  ferryman. 

''  193 


-t 


ii^ 


:! 


I 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 

Torquil  must  be  pronounced  "  turkle,"  and 
Cape  Breton  on  the  spot  must  be  called  Cape 
"  Britton."  It  is  supposed  by  some  that  the 
island  got  its  name  from  the  Basque  sailors  who 
came  to  these  shores  from  Cape  Breton  near 
Bayonne,  in  very  early  times.  Be  that  as  it 
may,  the  Basque  sailors  are  no  longer  there  to 
see  justice  done  their  mother  tongue,  and  Cape 
"  Britton  "  it  is  in  the  mouths  of  these  former 
subjects  of  the  British  Empire. 

Torquil  McLane's  ferry  was  quite  as  pic- 
turesque as  Torquil  himself,  and  resembled 
nothing  so  little  as  our  narrow-minded  ideas 
of  a  "  ferry."  To  see  it  was  to  understand 
and  sympathise  with  Mr.  A.'s  concern  that  we 
should  have  a  horse  willing  to  cross  it ! 

It  had  no  landing  whatever  other  than  the 
pebbly  beach  provided  by  nature.  The  ferry- 
boat resembled  a  retired  dory,  grown  broad 
and  flat-bottomed  with  increase  of  years.  We 
reached  this  promising  form  of  transportation 
by  pitching  down  a  stony  embankment  upon 
a  stony  beach. 

Torquil  was  waiting  for  us,  for  had  he  not 
seen  us  enter  town  the  night  before,  and  did 
he  not  hope  and  trust  that  we  should  be  cross- 

194 


French  River 


e 

)n 
>n 


ing  his  ferry  In  the  morning?  He  was  a  tall, 
spare  Highlander,  and  he  surveyed  us  with  his 
shrewd  Scotch  eyes,  and  in  a  deep  voice  in- 
quired, after  the  manner  of  his  people,  where 
we  came  from,  where  we  were  going,  and  what 
our  names  were. 

We  answered  and  looked  at  each  other  in 
consternation,  for  while  wc  might  get  aboard 
the  high-sided  boat,  rocking  in  the  water,  what 
of  Dan  ?  Could  he  and  would  he  do  this 
thing  ?  We  did  not  beheve  that  he  could  or 
would. 

While  Torquil  was  taking  the  horse  from  the 
waggon,  his  daughter,  aged  eighteen,  strongly 
built  and  rosy-cheeked,  appeared  upon  the 
scene.  She  had  come  to  help  her  father  row 
us  over  the  ferry,  and  was  accompanied  by  a 
little  boy  and  a  solemn-faced  baby. 

Torquil  and  his  buxom  daughter  laid  hold 
upon  the  waggon  and  pulled  it  out  into  the 
water  and  aboard  the  boat,  that  vehicle  going 
through  the  most  alarming  contortions  meaa- 
time.  Then  it  was  Dan's  turn,  and  we  watched 
with  bated  breath  as  he  waded  out. 

"  Get  in  there  !  "  said  Torquil  the  ferryman 
—  and  Dan  got  in  !     It  was  a  beautiful  sight 

195 


I! 


I.  i 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 

He  pawed  about  with  his  front  feet  until  he 
got  them  over  the  side  and  in  the  boat,  and 
repeated  the  operation  with  his  hind  ones 
until  he  was  all  in.  Could  he  have  known  the 
feelings  with  which  we  regarded  him  upon  that 
occasion,  he  would  have  been  a  proud  and 
happy  horse. 

As  it  was,  he  was  no  sooner  in  than  he  wished 
himself  out  again,  and  it  became  necessary 
for  one  of  us  to  stand  on  a  seat  and  keep 
him  from  walking  overboard,  while  Torquil 
and  his  daughter  pushed  the  boat  from  shore 
and  turned  it  toward  the  other  side  of  the 
harbour. 

The  baby  was  stowed  for  safe-keeping  under 
the  seat  in  the  bow,  whence  it  peered  out  curi- 
ous but  silent  —  as  became  a  Scotch  baby. 
The  little  boy  pulled  at  his  father's  oar  until 
his  face  was  crimson,  and  the  strong-armed 
daughter  kept  stroke  with  her  father.  Thus 
we  passed  the  perils  of  the  sea. 

As  soon  as  the  boat  grated  on  the  pebbles 
of  the  opposite  shore,  Dan  scrambled  over- 
board and  Torquil  harnessed  him  to  the  waggon. 
"We  paid  the  ferryman  his  fee  and  watched  the 
clumsy  craft  go  back  across  the  mouth  of  the 

196 


h'm 


*n 


French  River 


harbour  bearing  the  far-famed  ferryman,  his 
strong  daughter,  his  crimson-faced  son,  and  his 
silent  baby. 

This  long  narrow  reef  is  a  curious  object 
which,  seen  at  a  distance,  looks  more  like  an 
artificial  breakwater  than  a  work  of  nature.  It 
is  formed  of  large  light-coloured  cobblestones, 
and  the  road  over  them  was  almost  invisible,  so 
slight  is  the  impression  made  upon  them  by 
wheels  and  footsteps.  Quantities  of  gulls  flew 
screaming  about  us,  and  upon  the  bar  strange- 
looking  conifers  spread  themselves  out.  Broad 
at  the  base,  they  were  only  three  or  four  feet 
high,  grotesque  caricatures  of  the  elegantly 
proportioned  spruces  and  firs  of  the  moun- 
tains. Luxuriant  patches  of  Herb  Robert 
with  red-tinged  leaves  and  deep  pink  blossoms 
brightened  the  austere  bar,  and  the  Mertensia 
Maritima  was  also  in  bloom,  though  Wve  saw  but 
one  plant  of  it.  It  is  as  scarce  as  it  is  charm- 
ing and  loves  to  adorn  just  such  stony  places. 
Unfortunately  for  it,  its  pretty  patches  of  blue- 
gray  leaves  set  on  long  stems  radiating  from 
a  centre  are  very  noticeable  among  the  stones, 
even  if  it  were  not  for  the  showy  flowers,  rose- 
red  in  the  bud,  violet  as  they  unfold,  and  finally 

197 


?i  I 


V 


W    \ 


i         <  I 

I 


\% 


I:?!;' 


I>  * 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 

when  fully  open  a  deep  pure  blue,  and  they 
fall  victims  to  the  passer-by. 

We  are  distressed  to  recall  that  we  took  this 
last  plant,  it  may  be  thereby  exterminating  the 
race,  so  far  as  that  particular  cobblestone  bar 
is  concerned.  Upon  realising  this,  we  wished 
it  back  in  its  place  among  the  stones,  ripening 
its  seeds.  But  it  was  too  late.  The  delicate 
roots  could  not  be  returned  to  the  crevices 
whence  they  had  been  torn,  and  we  regarded 
the  quaint  and  pretty  blossoms  that  lay  before 
us  with  a  feeling  of  guilt  which  it  is  to  be 
hoped  is  the  fate  of  all  vandals. 

Patches  of  fragrant  juniper  covered  with 
clusters  of  dusky  blue  berries  were  scattered 
over  the  bar,  and  the  yellow  August  flower 
nodded  merrily  to  us  from  its  hard  lot  among 
the  stones. 

The  August  flower,  as  it  is  here  called,  grows 
all  over  Nova  Scotia.  It  is  a  yellow  composite, 
smaller  and  more  delicate  than  a  dandelion,  and 
the  most  joyous  of  weeds,  standing  anywhere 
and  everywhere  that  it  can  find  room  for  a  seed 
to  sprout,  and  making  the  roadsides  and  stony 
places  bright. 

Once  over  the  bar,  the  road  lay  along  the 

198 


French  River 


narrow  stretch  of  level  country  between  moun- 
tains and  sea.  The  houses  by  common  con- 
sent in  this  whole  country  keep  as  far  away 
from  the  road  and  from  one  another  as  they 
can.  We  could  see  them  set  far  back  toward 
the  mountains  and  protected  from  the  dangers 
of  the  highway  by  broad  fields  which  lay  in 
front  of  them. 

For  some  distance  the  road  winds  Its  charm- 
ing way  in  full  view  of  the  surrounding  moun- 
tains and  sea,  and  then  it  turns  inland  and 
crosses  the  steep-banked  Barasois  River  over  a 
new  iron  bridge. 

Cape  Breton  is  a  remarkable  place  for  brooks. 
One  feels  obliged  to  keep  on  saying  so,  for 
they  keep  on  appearing,  the  most  friendly  and 
joyous  brooks ;  sliding  without  a  ripple  over 
mossy  rocks,  leaping  wildly  down  the  faces  of 
cliffs,  disappearing,  reappearing,  murmuring, 
smiling,  roaring,  they  were  our  constant  com- 
panions, delightful  beyond  all  reason.  They  are 
brown  brooks  as  a  rule,  a  deep  golden  brown, 
though  sometimes  they  are  emerald  green-. 

Indian  Brook,  which  we  crossed  soon  after 
the  Barasois,  almost  anywhere  else  would  be 
called   a    river.     It   has  a  broad  stony  beach 

199 


m 


<l; 


F 


'.  \ 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 

which  tells  a  tale  of  flood  when  the  glen  it 
traverses  between  the  mountains  was  filled  by 
a  wild  torrent,  for  mountains  of  great  beauty- 
stand  about  Indian  Brook.  It  is  one  of  the 
loveliest  spots  in  Cape  North,  as  the  people  call 
all  this  northern  peninsula.  The  mountains 
that  enclose  the  glen  are  like  those  at  English- 
town,  while  to  the  northward  are  seen  the  splen- 
did headlands  that  stop  at  the  sea,  projecting 
their  imposing  individual  forms  in  dark  masses 
against  the  sky.  The  mouth  of  Indian  Brook 
traverses  a  wide  flat  expanse  that  in  the  autumn 
is  brilliant  with  the  glorious  colouring  that 
distinguishes  the  salt  marsh. 

Having  secured  a  jar  of  milk  and  half  a  loaf 
of  sour  bread  from  a  wayside  farmhouse  set 
well  back  from  the  road  on  a  hill,  when  the 
time  came  we  had  dinner  by  a  brook-side. 
Cape  Breton  is  noted  and  justly  so  for  sour 
bread,  but  there  are  exceptions. 

Cape  Breton  brooks  might  have  been  made 
for  camping  purposes,  so  admirably  are  they 
adapted  to  it,  and  the  one  we  chose  that  day 
was  perfect.  It  had  a  broad  bed  of  dry  stones 
with  a  clear  cold  stream  in  the  middle  and 
bushes  and  trees  along  grassy  banks, 

200 


'■»  * 


French  River 


ide 
ley 
lay 
les 
Ind 


On  the  dry  stones,  partly  protected  by  a  clump 
of  trees,  the  camp-fire  burned  cheerily,  and 
we  had  a  royal  dinner,  leaving  the  Cape  Breton 
bread  to  the  discussion  of  the  birds.  Dan 
had  several  sheaves  of  fresh-cut  oats,  purchased 
along  the  way,  and  we  were  all  happy. 

There  was  not  a  house  nor  a  human  being 
In  sight,  only  the  sky,  the  cold  brook,  the 
splendid  air,  and  the  trees  and  birds  for  com- 
pany. Had  we  known  as  much  then  as  we 
did  later,  we  might  have  added  brook  trout 
to  our  feast. 

We  lingered  long,  lying  on  the  warm  grass 
in  the  sun  while  Dan  cropped  about  the  bushes. 
The  good  fellow  endeared  himself  to  us  quite 
as  much  through  his  faults  as  his  virtues,  —  for 
his  weaknesses  were  human  like  our  own. 

He  loved  the  midday  rest.  He  knew  when 
the  time  came,  and  sometimes  even  selected  the 
spot.  When  he  had  had  a  pleasant  time  of  long 
duration,  he  showed  his  appreciation  by  good- 
naturedly  putting  himself  between  the  shafts, 
which  it  is  the  custom  in  Cape  Breton  to  hold 
up  above  the  horse ;  but  his  opinion  of  an  in- 
sufficient play  spell  he  expressed  by  meanly 
stepping   in    sideways    so  that    the    shafts  lay 

20 1 


t  ( 


II 


III 

ii    \ 

\  i         J 


ni' 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 

across  his  back.  This  he  would  do  time  and 
again,  resisting  the  combined  efforts  of  the  two 
of  us  to  get  him  in  straight  until  he  considered 
us  sufficiently  punished,  when  he  would  turn 
around  of  his  own  accord. 

Wherever  we  were,  the  same  forms  went 
flitting  ahead  of  us,  the  same  uncertain  colour 
and  quick  motion,  only  the  white  feathers  on 
the  sides  of  their  outspread  tails  betraying  the 
juncos  and  their  sociable  tsip,  tsip^  tsip^  telling 
us  we  were  not  alone  in  the  wilderness. 

The  approach  to  Sandy  McDonald's  is  over 
undulating  fields  ;  it  is  not  on  the  highway,  no 
house  in  Cape  Breton  is,  and  it  is  not  in  view 
from  the  highway.  One  goes  there  on  faith. 
The  track  worn  through  the  fields  meanders 
along  toward  the  sea,  and  one  meanders  along 
over  it,  with  no  sign  of  what  one  is  seeking 
until  upon  climbing  a  hill  the  house  is  suddenly 
in  view,  standing  on  the  very  edge  of  the  sea 
bluff  and  flanked  by  a  small  barn  and  the 
roofs  of  a  group  of  buildings  that  scarcely  rise 
above  the  bank. 

The  house  stands  alone  on  that  wild  coast 
with  the  restless  northern  sea  reaching  out  to 

the  "  Grand    Banks,"   and   the  nearer  waters 

202 


H-i,-f- 


French  River 


yielding  great  store  of  codfish  to  Sandy  aad 
his  fishermen. 

There  is  a  wide  and  slightly  rolling  meadow 
to  be  crossed  before  the  house  is  reached,  and 
this  meadow,  when  we  passed  that  way,  had 
been  given  a  recent  top-dressing  of  fish-heads, 
which  sent  forth  a  mighty  odour.  As  the 
house  was  approached,  however,  the  fish-heads 
were  left  behind,  and  the  strong,  clean  winds 
from  the  sea  drove  the  stench  landward,  leaving 
about  the  McDonald  habitation  only  its  legiti- 
mate odours  of  fresh  and  drying  fish. 

Fish  is  the  keynote  to  life  at  Sandy  Mc- 
Donald's. There  is  fish  everywhere  about  the 
place  ;  indeed,  man  himself  seems  a  subordi- 
nate work  of  nature,  created  for  the  purpose 
of  catching  and  curing  fish. 

The  house  stands  on  the  top  of  the  bluflf 
and  down  below  are  fish  in  all  stages  of  prepa- 
ration. Down  there,  too,  are  the  buildings 
where  the  fish  are  salted  and  laid  in  piles  to 
await  their  turn  on  the  flakes. 

These  dark-hued  old  fish-huts,  with  their 
briny  odours  and  weather-worn  aspect,  give  one 
the  feeling  that  they  have  grown  there  like 
barnacles  on  the  bank.     They  stand  with  their 

203 


i  I 


/  \ 


»  ' 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 

backs  against  the  bluff,  and  about  them  are 
large  frames  roofed  with  poles,  the  flakes  ap- 
propriate to  the  scale  upon  which  fishing  is 
here  carried  on. 

Standing  about  are  large  black  iron  pots  with 
signs  of  extinct  fires  still  visible  under  them; 
and  there  are  vats  of  livers ;  and  everywhere 
fish  are  lying  or  hanging,  the  cod  having  the 
place  of  honour  on  the  flakes,  the  queer-look- 
ing remnants  of  dogfish  or  skates  spread  out 
on  the  beach  or  hung  up  anywhere. 

The  huddle  of  huts  and  great  flakes,  the 
boats  drawn  up  on  the  shore,  are  all  of  the 
same  weather-worn  hue ;  and,  seen  against 
the  sombre,  treeless  bank  with  the  boundless 
expanse  of  the  northern  sea  in  front,  the  place 
has  a  wild  and  remote  aspect  at  once  unique 
and  impressive. 

In  the  narrow  path  that  leads  along  between 
fish  huts  and  flakes  we  saw  a  small  and  shaggy- 
haired  ox  with  a  yoke  about  his  neck  attached 
to  a  sled  that  would  have  graced  an  ethnologi- 
cal museum,  for  if  it  was  not  the  work  of 
primitive  man,  it  at  least  was  the  primitive 
work  of  man,  which  amounts  to  about  the  same 
thing,  so  far  as  looks  are  concerned. 

204 


French  River 


m 


And  Sandy  McDonald  owns  the  whole  of 
this  uncommon  place.  House,  barn,  store, 
for  there  is  a  store  well  stocked  with  fisher- 
men's needs  next  the  house,  fish-huts,  fish- 
flakes,  shaggy  ox,  and  primitive-looking  sled,  — 
all  are  his. 

When  we  got  there  in  the  afternoon  the 
day's  work  was  done,  the  fishermen  were  scat- 
tered, and  there  only  remained  the  evidences  of 
their  recent  presence  in  the  fresh  fish  that  were 
lying  about  and  the  long,  lank,  newly  hung 
strips  of  dogfish  drying  for  the  horses  and 
cows.  They  told  us  that  a  horse  fed  on  dried 
dogfish  presently  acquires  a  glossiness  beauti- 
ful to  behold. 

French  River  runs  over  a  stony  bed  to  the 
north  of  the  house.  It  winds  its  shallow  way 
to  the  sea  untroubled  by  the  fact  that  the 
McDonald  household  has  to  descend  the  bank 
to  its  level  and  carry  back  every  drop  of  water 
the  family  uses. 

This  is  the  romantic  but  extremely  incon- 
venient habit  throughout  Cape  Breton.  Each 
house  is  built  as  near  as  possible  to  its  own 
river  or  brook  or  spring.     If  the  land  in  the 

immediate  neighbourhood  of  water  is  not  suit- 

205 


'■•.!  1, 


6; .» 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 

able  for  building  purposes,  so  much  the  worse 
for  the  family.  The  little  meandering  paths 
from  h  •"?  to  spring  are  very  pretty  in  the 
summe.  ine,  and  one  is  willing  not  to  know 
them  in  the  winter. 

There  must  be  people  somewhere  near  Sandy 
McDonald's,  for  we  saw  little  children  on  the 
bank  above  us  as  we  walked  among  the  remains 
of  fish  that  afternoon  of  our  arrival.  The  little 
creatures  seemed  to  belong  to  some  untamed 
branch  of  humanity,  they  were  so  wild  in  looks 
and  behaviour,  fleeing  like  wind-blown  elves  if 
we  so  m  -ch  as  looked  in  their  direction.  They 
finally  '^  themselves  down  on  the  top  of  the 
bank  anu  peered  down  at  us,  only  their  heads 
visible,  while  they  would  occasionally  spring 
up  like  a  row  of  jumping-jacks,  tossing  their 
arms  and  gesticulating  wildly.  It  was  a  strange 
place  as  the  sunset  glow  warmed  the  sky  and 
the  great  northern  sea  darkened,  with  the 
weather-worn  fish-huts,  the  great  flakes,  the 
strong  odour  of  drying  fish  about  us,  and 
above  us  the  grim  bank  with  the  forms  of  the 
strangely  behaving  children  outlined  against 
the  red  sky. 

The  McDonald  bread  is  not  sour,  and  pretty 

206 


■-iiS 


French  River 


Mrs.  McDonald  prepared  supper,  of  which 
we  partook  with  the  family,  consisting  of  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  McDonald  and  their  little  boy,  and 
Mr.  McDonald  asked  a  Gaelic  blessing  over 
the  meal. 

In  the  morning  we  saw  the  real  life  of  this 
remote  fishing-station.  By  the  time  we  had 
eaten  breakfast,  the  dories  were  rlready  coming 
back  with  the  result  of  the  day's  catch. 

Hours  before  we  were  awake  the  fishermen 
had  pulled  out  to  sea,  and  there  in  the  darkness 
had  drawn  in  the  cods,  the  skates,  and  the  dog- 
fish. We  watched  the  boats  come  in,  bobbing 
over  the  water  and  all  making  for  the  same 
point,  —  the  shore  where  we  stood.  When  a 
boat  neared  the  strand,  it  was  headed  at  right 
angles  to  the  breakers  and  driven  hard  ashore. 
As  it  grated  on  the  pebbles  the  men  jumped 
overboard;  one  of  them  threw  one  of  the  enor- 
mous oars  under  the  bow  for  a  roller,  and  all 
hands  laying  hold  upon  either  side  of  the  boat 
with  shouting  and  laughter  drew  it,  load  and 
all,  up  on  the  pebbly  beach  beyond  high  tide. 

The  heavy  boats  were  laid  side  by  side  so 
close  together  as  almost  to  touch.  It  was  quite 
exciting  and  very  picturesque,  for  the  men  were 

207 


1 


% 


*i 


"^V*^ 


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1 


Hi 


Down  No'rth  and  Up  Along 

■  ■I  .III  I  — » ,.,    ■       ■■     ■-II..I—      !■,    ■l^■^— .—    ■  ——^l^ 

clad  in  tarpaulins  and  their  speech  was  Gaelic. 
As  soon  as  a  boat  was  landed,  all  gathered 
abou*-  it  to  examine  and  comment  upon  its 
contents ;  then  the  tables  were  set  up  and  the 
work  of  "dressing  down"  began. 

The  tables  were  the  colour  'yi  the  fish-huts, 
the  flakes,  and  the  sombre  bank ;  they  had  criss- 
cross legs  nailed  to  either  end,  and  looked 
soggy  on  top,  where  the  juices  of  innumerable 
fish  had  been  spilled  upon  them. 

The  cod  were  mostly  small  the  morning  we 
saw  them.  We  had  not  thought  well  of  the 
personal  appearance  of  the  cod  heretofore,  but 
many  of  these  were  of  a  brilliant  metallic  brown 
played  over  by  shades  of  red  and  green. 

Besides  the  cod  there  were  quantities  of  dog- 
fish, more  dogfish  than  cod  indeed ;  and  every 
boat  had  at  least  one,  and  some  of  them  several 
enormous  skates.  Their  semi-lunar  mouths 
were  placed  underneath  the  front  of  the  kite- 
shaped  body  and  were  horribly  paved  with  blunt 
and  rounded  teeth  that  fastened  unyieldingly 
upon  anything  that  came  within  reach. 

In  each  boat  was  store  of  squid  for  bait. 
There  are  no  queerer  creatures  than  these, 
saft,  long,   and  cylindrical,  reddish   yellow  in 

208 


a: 


iJ;i 


i: 


^: 


Is  ■' 


Pi 


French  River 


colour,  with  long  tentacles  growing  out  from 
the  head  end.  The  head  end  is  spotted  and 
speckled  with  bright  colours,  and  up  and  down 
run  lines  of  changing  and  iridescent  hues,  as 
though  the  blood  in  their  transparent  bodies 
were  made  of  the  essence  of  rainbows.  Their 
conduct  is  as  queer  as  their  appearance,  for 
when  they  are  first  pulled  out  of  the  water 
they  squirt  ink  upon  their  captors,  and  that 
they  are  pulled  out  at  all  is  entirely  their  own 
fault,  for  the  fisherman  but  drops  overboard  a 
cylindrical  piece  of  lead  painted  red  with  a  row 
of  hooks  bent  backward  around  the  lower  end. 
This  object  the  squid  embraces,  wrapping  his 
inner  tentacles  about  it  and  so  impaling  himself. 
The  instrument  is  not  baited  in  any  way,  and 
for  a  squid  to  behave  as  he  does  toward  it 
seems  too  absurd  even  for  a  squid. 

As  soon  as  the  tables  were  set  up,  the  work 
of  "  dressing  down  *'  began  in  earnest.  The 
cod  were  taken  first  and  whisked  through  the 
process  with  great  speed  and  no  ceremony.  A 
boy  tossed  the  fish  from  boat  to  table.  A  man 
caught  it  by  the  head,  ran  his  knife  around  the 
gills,  broke  its   neck,  slit  it  open  down    the 

belly,  and  sent  it  sliding  over  the  greasy  table 
14  209 


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./  ; 


In 


I  / 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 


to  another  man,  who  tore  off  its  head  and 
tossed  that  into  a  barrel,  tore  out  its  insides, 
tossed  the  liver  into  one  barrel,  the  "sound," 
if  a  big  one,  into  another,  the  rest  of  the  in- 
wards into  a  third,  and  sent  the  rifled  remains 
along  to  another  man  who  slit  it  down  the 
sides,  cut  out  the  backbone,  and  tossed  what 
was  left  of  it  into  a  tub  of  sea-water,  where  a 
boy  swashed  it  up  and  down  and  laid  it  aside 
ready  to  be  salted. 

But  as  long  as  it  takes  to  tell  of  one  fish,  a 
dozen  or  more  had  gone  througn  the  process  ; 
they  slipped  along  from  hand  to  hand  in  an 
almost  unbroken  chain. 

The  stomachs  of  the  largest  cod  were  opened, 
to  see  what  booty  there  might  be  therein,  for  as 
Father  Charlevoix,  in  his  Letters  to  the  Duch- 
ess of  Lesdiguieres,  published  in   1763,  says : 

"  There  is  perhaps  no  Creature,  in  Proportion  to  its 
Bigness,  that  has  so  wide  a  Mouth,  or  that  is  more 
voracious.** 

He  tells  us  that  the  cod  of  his  day  ate  iron 

and  glass  and  pieces  of  broken  pots,  and  then, 

feeling  obliged  to  account  for  the  consequences 

of  such  a  rash  diet,  he  adds  :  — 

210 


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a. 
C/3 


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i, 


(."♦ 
{1i 

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French  River 


"Now  we  are  convinced  that  the  Cod  can  turn 
itself  Inside-out  like  a  Pocket,  and  that  the  Fish 
frees  itself  from  any  Thing  that  troubles  it  by  this 
Means." 

That  was  certainly  a  very  convenient  habit, 
but  one  not  possessed  by  the  cod  of  the  present 
time.  The  cod  we  saw  opened  had  made  no 
prizes  excepting  that  three  or  four  good-sized 
lobsters  in  an  unimpaired  condition  were  taken 
from  one  of  them  and  laid  aside.  One  wonders 
whether  it  is  courage  or  callousness  that  enables 
a  codfish  to  swallow  a  live  lobster,  claws  and 
all,  —  and  why  the  lobster  allows  it. 

After  the  dressing  down  of  the  cod  came  the 
turn  of  the  hake  and  pollock,  then  of  the 
leathery  dogfish,  these  little  sharks  being  very 
summarily  dealt  with  and  not  washed  at  all. 

Last  of  all  came  the  skates,  their  enormous 
bodies,  shaped  like  a  Chinese  kite,  almost  cov- 
ering the  tables  and  heaving  up  and  down  as 
though  the  creatures  were  labouring  for  breath. 
Only  a  small  semi-lunar  section  is  cut  out  of 
the  skate  and  used ;  this  is  coarse  meat,  but  we 
were  told  that  when  well  cooked  it  is  not  ill 
flavoured. 

The  men  laughed  over  their  work  and  talked 

311 


Hi 


If  I 


■i  r 


9i 


u    I 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 

Gaelic,  and  we  had  a  feeling  that  it  was  as  well 
we  could  not  understand  all  that  was  being 
said.  They  were  a  rude  set,  harmless  enough, 
no  doubt,  and  when  at  home  would  probably 
have  been  found  in  the  scattered  houses  that 
stand  so  far  from  the  road. 

Here,  at  Sandy  McDonald's,  we  saw  the 
whole  method  of  dealing  with  the  cod  from 
beginning  to  end,  all  but  the  catching  of  it, 
and  we  felt  quite  willing  to  let  that  rest  with 
the  imagination. 

While  we  made  our  preparations  to  depart, 
all  of  the  fishermen  in  their  tarpaulins  stood  in 
line  and  looked  on.  They  were  very  quiet, 
only  uttering  an  occasional  comment  in  Gaelic. 
They  made  no  effort  to  help  or  to  hinder, 
but  stood  there. 

Probably  it  was  many  a  long  day  since  they 
had  been  blessed  with  so  diverting  a  spectacle. 
And  as  for  ourselves,  we  cannot  remember  a 
time  when  things  proved  so  contrary,  when 
so  many  apples  escaped  and  rolled  around  for 
the  admiration  of  the  spectator,  and  when  pro- 
visions, personal  effects,  and  cooking  utensils 
showed  such  perverse  refusal  to  go  where  they 
belonged.     To  see  us  harness  our  horse,  rea- 

212 


French  River 


dered  our  attentive  audience  speechless ;  even 
Gaelic  failed  them. 

At  the  brow  of  the  hill  we  turned  for  a  last 
look  at  the  quaint  fishing-station,  and  there 
was  the  group  of  tarpaulins,  still  gazing  after 
us.  We  cannot  shake  off  the  feeling  that  they 
are  there  still,  standing  in  line  and  gazing 
speechless  toward  the  brow  of  the  hill. 


ai3 


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drh 


XV 
CAPE   SMOKY 

CAPE  NORTH  is  the  home  of  the 
balsam  fir,  whose  delightful  fragrance 
fairly  pours  out  in  the  heat  of  the 
sun.  It  is  as  full  of  sweetness  as 
an  orange-tree,  every  part  of  it,  wood,  leaf, 
bark,  and  root,  yielding  an  aromatic  juice. 

There  are  blisters  full  of  resinous  sap  on  the 
trunks,  old  firs  sometimes  having  quite  large 
reservoirs  of  this  "  balsam ; "  and  we  amused 
ourselves  by  cutting  into  them  with  a  penknife 
and  seeing  the  clear  liquid  gush  out.  It  was 
as  clear  as  water  with  a  sharp  turpentine  taste, 
and  quickly  dried  into  a  sticky  glue.  We  cut 
a  great  many  balsam  blisters  on  our  way  to 
Cape  North,  and  we  hope  the  trees  did  not 
suffer. 

All  the  way  from  Baddeck  to.  the  rocky 
headland  of  Cape  Noi  th,  the  houses  are  of  the 
same  mind  with  regard  to  the  road  and  to  one 
another.  They  are  scattered  far  apart  and  far- 
ther as  one  goes  north,  and  under  no  circum- 

8x4 


Cape  Smoky 


stances  do  they  place  themselves  close  to  the 
road,  which  they  seem  to  regard  with  so  much 
distrust. 

^  The  fences  are  often  as  picturesque  as  the 
zigzag  rail  fence  known  as  the  "Virginia 
snake,"  though  it  belongs  as  much  to  New 
England  as  to  Virginia.  Cape  Breton  fences 
are  sometimes  made  of  small  tree-trunks  with 
the  bark  on,  and  these  are  laid  together  in  a 
manner  local  to  the  place  and  pleasing  to  the 
eye.  The  gates  are  even  prettier  than  the 
fences  and  are  more  varied  in  design,  each  sec- 
tion seeming  to  possess  its  own  stvle  of  gate- 
architecture. 

The  gates  do  not  open  into  dooryards  but 
into  wide  fields,  somewhere  beyond  which  the 
house  is  safely  intrenched.  Sometimes  there 
are  several  intervening  fields,  and  he  who  would 
visit  must  open  several  gates  before  he  can  get 
to  his  neighbours.  They  are  wide  gates  as  a 
rule,  through  which  loads  of  hay  can  pass. 
The  small  gate,  quickly  opened  and  quickly 
closed,  a  sort  of  invitation  to  enter,  is  seldom 
seen  here. 

The  people  often  shut  their  doors  when  they 
saw  us  coming,  and  upon  one  occasion  an  old 

215 


I'i 


Ml 


I 


'!,     ! 


i    U 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 

woman  closed  the  house  and  made  good  her 
escape  to  the  barn. 

Shut  the  door  on  us  as  they  would,  however, 
we  had  always  an  open  sesame  in  the  name  of 
Mr.  Gibbons,  and  to  some  of  them  we  bore 
personal  messages  from  him.  It  was  a  beauti- 
ful sight  to  see  the  hard  faces  lighten,  and  sus- 
picion give  way  to  confidence  at  the  mention 
of  his  name.  They  eagerly  asked  news  of  him, 
and  sent  back  messages  of  this  one  and  that 
one  to  whom  good  or  bad  fortune  had  come 
since  his  departure. 

Human  nature  is  quite  as  human  here  as 
elsewhere  we  discovered  upon  approaching  a 
house  set  back  on  a  hillside  one  day.  The  open 
kitchen  door  was  promptly  closed,  as,  crestfallen 
but  not  vanquished,  we  drew  near.  Presently, 
however,  the  parlour  door  was  cautiously  set 
part  way  open,  and  by  the  time  we  were  fairly 
arrived  the  inmate  was  so  industriously  sewing 
that  she  did  not  observe  our  approach,  —  this 
notwithstanding  that  she  had  been  unable  to  re- 
frai'  -^  oking  out  a  moment  before  to  see 
^  t  were.     The  woman  was  young, 

auu  e  V  o  working  upon  a  bright  red  merino 
child's   dress,  elaborately  trimmed  with   lace. 

ax6 


Cape  Smoky 


Such  we  had  not  seen  elsewhere  in  Cape  Breton, 
and  prompdy  taking  our  cue  we  heaped  upon 
it  the  wonderment  and  praise  it  merited,  while 
the  proud  mother's  eyes  shone ;  and  during  her 
detailed  exhibition  of  it  we  could  not  help  dis- 
covering that  it  was  quite  finished  and  the 
appearance  of  industry  had  been  but  an  ingeni- 
ous device  to  bring  it  upon  the  scene.  She 
told  us  she  had  kept  the  materials  ever  since 
she  came  from  Boston,  where  she  had  once 
worked. 

To  have  worked  in  Boston  is  a  mark  of  high 
distinction,  and  gives  a  girl  a  right  to  put  on 
airs  and  be  looked  up  to.  She  comes  back 
from  there  with  ideas  and  with  all  sorts  of 
household  embellishments,  many  of  which  are 
of  a  nature  to  make  one  hope  they  are  not  dis- 
tinctive of  the  aesthetic  status  of  Boston.  To 
Boston  the  surplus  youth  of  a  family  find  their 
way,  and  Boston  and  the  United  States  are 
synonymous  in  Cape  Breton. 

Boats  at  Halifax  connect  with  Boston  and 
the  West  Indies,  and  these  ports  are  the  known 
world  to  the  Nova  Scotian,  besides  Canada. 

A  woman  at  Baddeck,  upon  hearing  us  men- 
tion Chicago,  so  soon  after  its  Great  Fair,  too, 

SX7 


I 


'.ii 


H; 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 

■■  .'■'■       .——.■—...■—■  ■        ■■■■—■■I      .—  IIMI  I       ■  . .— -—  ■■■■■ 

said,  "Oh,  yes,  I  have  heard  the  name  before; 
it  is  near  Florida."  It  will  be  hard  for  Chi- 
cago to  believe  this,  but  it  is  true. 

This  unhappy  state  of  affairs  is  doubtless 
due  to  the  curious  nature  of  the  geographies 
used  and  taught  in  the  schools.  It  gives 
one  a  queer  feeling  to  open  one  of  them  and 
observe  the  great  size  and  multi-coloured  ap- 
pearance of  Canada,  while  the  United  States 
is  a  little  neutral-coloured  oblong  somewhere 
down  below. 

In  our  geographies,  which  we  know  have 
been  made  with  a  great  deal  of  care,  the  relative 
importance  of  the  two  countries  is  reversed, 
Canada  appearing  as  a  nearly  blank  upper 
border  to  the  map,  while  the  I'nited  States  is 
evidently  a  mighty  nation,  resplendent  \:  bril- 
liant geographical  colouring.  Could  the  Nova 
Scotian  be  induced  —  or  compelled  —  to  use 
our  school  books,  he  would  soon  cease  to  be 
ignorant. 

We  made  many  calls  along  the  road,  having 
always  an  excuse  in  asking  the  way  oi'  buying 
potatoes.  This  last  was  M.'s  duty,  and  she  regu- 
larly fulf  lied  it  by  presenting  the  large  copper 
cent  of  the  country,  and  asking  for  its  equivalent 

2l3 


Cape  Smoky 


in  potatoes.  This  was  a  language  the  people 
understood,  and  the  cent  was  always  honoured 
by  enough  potatoes  for  a  meal,  —  the  only  busi- 
ness transaction  we  !iad  with  these  canny  Scotch 
in  which  we  felt  perfectly  sure  they  were  not 
getting  the  better  of  us. 

The  houses  contained  four  or  five  rooms 
generally,  though  some  had  an  attic  as  well. 
In  the  best  of  them  was  always  a  sitting-room 
or  parlour,  its  floor  covered  with  home-made 
rugs,  and  on  the  table  were  a  few  books  of  a 
theological  nature.  Opening  from  the  sitting- 
room  there  was  often  a  tiny  guest-chamber 
elaborately  furnished  with  rugs  and  tidies. 

There  was  one  ornament  in  several  of  these 
houses  which  we  never  had  seen  anywhere  else. 
This  was  a  chocolate-coloured  card,  whereon 
were  set  forth  the  virtues  of  a  deceased  mem- 
ber of  the  family  in  gilt  letters.  These  cards 
were  lying  on  the  centre-table  in  the  parlour; 
and  though  they  did  not  add  to  its  cheerfulness 
we  liked  them  better  than  the  silver  coffin- 
plates  framed  in  black  velvet  which  we  had 
seen  hanging  on  the  wjills  of  a  Massachusetts 
farmhouse. 

Every  house  has  its  rugs,  sometimes  beauti- 

ai9 


4 


'i.  1' 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 

fill  and  always  interesting.  They  cover  the 
otherwise  bare  floor  of  the  parlour,  where  there 
is  one,  and  make  spots  of  warmth  for  the  feet 
in  kitchen  and  bedroom.  They  are  made  of 
rags  "  hooked "  into  a  foundation  of  coarse 
cotton  cloth. 

The  women  save  their  rags  and  colour  them 
charmingly  from  the  bark  of  trees  and  from 
plants  which  they  gather  in  the  forest  and 
steep  for  the  purpose.  With  these  coloured 
rags  they  work  through  the  long  winters,  creat- 
ing marvellous  patterns  of  flower  or  bird,  or 
merely  of  combinations  of  geometric  figures,  or 
of  figures  known  to  no  science  whatever.  They 
vie  with  one  another  and  willingly  endure  much 
weariness,  for  a  large  rug  is  a  back-aching  and  a 
finger-aching  task.  One  who  has  not  seen 
these  creations  could  hardly  believe  there  were 
such  possibilities  in  rags.  They  are  to  the 
women  of  Cape  Breton  what  worsted  work, 
wax  flowers,  and  various  forms  of  painting  are 
to  the  country  people  of  some  other  places. 
But  here  the  occupation  never  changes,  the  craze 
of  one  season  is  the  craze  of  the  next.  Often 
these  rugs  were  more  lurid  than  harmonious 
in  their  colours,  but  the  most  of  them  gave  a 

220 


Cape  Smoky 


homely  cheeriness   to   the  bare  raftered  rooms 
that  could  not  be  dispensed  with. 

Besides  making  rugs  many  of  the  women 
spin  and  weave  their  own  cloth  ;  and  in  a  few 
of  the  houses  the  clumsy  and  picturesque  loom 
was  still  standing,  though  for  the  most  part  the 
looms  were  not  in  place,  weaving  being  winter 
work. 

Cape  North  homespun  is  not  beautiful. 
The  warp  is  made  of  cotton  and  the  cloth  is 
harsh  to  the  touch,  and  generally  ugly  in  colour. 
But  the  great  loom,  sometimes  half  filling  the 
room,  is  a  picturesque  adjunct  to  the  cottages 
which  we  hope  will  not  be  in  haste  to  depart. 

Most  of  the  houses  had  no  chimneys  and 
of  course  no  fireplaces,  a  stove-pipe  through 
a  hole  in  the  roof  allowing  the  smoke  to 
escape.  A  queer  cylinder-backed  stove  was 
very  common,  as  if  some  enterprising  stove 
agent  had  passed  that  way  within  a  recent  his- 
torical period. 

How  the  people  manage  to  keep  warm 
through  the  long  winters  is  a  mystery,  for  the 
houses  seemed  to  us  in  many  cases  but  little 
better  suited  to  withstand  the  cold  than  are  the 
cabins  of  Southern  Florida. 


\% 


f 


321 


'«! 


if.  \i 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 

We  were  vividly  reirmded  of  the  south,  too, 
by  seeing  women  washing  clothes  out  of  doors. 
They  had  the  same  large  black  iron  pots  for 
heating  water  over  a  fire  on  the  ground.  One 
wonders  how  early  in  the  seabon  they  begin  it, 
and  how  late  they  end  it,  and  what  happens 
during  the  long  months  of  deep  snow  when  no 
clothes  can  be  washed  out  of  doors. 

The  kitchen  was  the  largest  room  and  the 
most  interesting.  The  dishes  stood  in  a  home- 
made dresser  open  in  front,  the  plates  and 
saucers  upright  in  rows  against  the  wall,  and 
the  cups  hanging  on  hooks.  There  were 
wooden  chests  standing  along  the  sides,  that 
also  served  for  seats,  and  odd-looking  little 
cupboards  hung  on  the  walls,  while  various 
objects  depended  from  the  beams  with  pictur- 
esque effect.  Sometimes  a  wide  bed  stood  in 
one  corner. 

The  men  belonging  to  these  houses  are 
fishermen,  and  the  women  do  the  work  of  the 
fields. 

The  women  in  the  barley  fields  were  a 
pleasant  sight  as  we  passed  along,  and  came 
upon  them  amongst  the  yellow  grain  in  their 
short  homespun  petticoats,  a  gay  kerchief  tied 


222 


Cape  Smoky 


over  their  heads,  and  the  bright  sickle  in  their 
hands,  for  the  barley  is  cut  with  sickles  here. 
One  in  search  of  pictures  of  peasant  life  need 
not  go  farther  than  the  barley  fields  of  Cape 
Breton.  ■ 

The  men  fish  and  the  women  work  the 
farms.  I  asked  a  girl  which  was  the  harder. 
"  Oh,  the  fishing,"  she  replied  ;  "  that  is  much 
harder;  the  field  work  will  be  easy."  She  told 
us  the  men  sometimes  went  out  at  four  o'clock 
in  the  morning  and  did  not  get  back  until  four 
in  the  afternoon,  and  all  that  time  without 
food,  "  for  they  will  never  eat  on  the  boats." 

The  people  are  industrious  and  temperate. 
One  of  them  told  us  Cape  Breton  folks  had  to 
be ;  they  had  to  work  continually,  and  strong 
drink  meant  immediate  ruin. 

The  fare  is  principally  salt  fish  and  potatoes, 
strong  tea  and  oatmeal  porridge.  Each  family 
keeps  a  cow  and  a  few  hens,  and  some  have 
sheep.  No  attempt  seems  ever  to  be  made  to 
prepare  the  food  in  any  but  the  simplest  and 
to  our  minds  least  palatable  manner.  The  fish 
IS  boiled,  the  potatoes  are  boiled,  and  the  meal 
is  served  without  any  further  trouble. 

The  children,  brought  up  on  a  diet  of  oat- 

223 


*% 


hm 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 

meal,  salt  fish,  and  potatoes,  scorn  the  luxuries 
of  an  effete  civilisation,  as  we  discovered  upon 
presenting  some  bananas  to  the  youngsters  of 
a  house  where  we  s'jpped.  They  tasted,  spat 
violently,  and  ran  howling  to  their  mother,  who 
was  as  much  mortified  as  we  were  amused. 
We  thereat ter  refrained  from  proffering  tropi- 
cal fruits  to  children  reared  so  near  the  pole. 

In  the  winter,  it  seems  that  those  who  own 
sheep  kill  one,  and  this  gives  them  the  only 
fresh  meat  of  the  year.  Of  course  the  poorer 
families  do  not  have  even  this. 

At  the  time  of  our  visit  the  mountains  were 
covered  with  blueberries,  the  largest  and 
sweetest  we  ever  tasted.  These  the  people 
gathered  and  ate  without  sugar  or  milk,  and 
allowed  the  surplus  to  lie  and  ferment,  in 
which  state  they  seemed  to  be  relished  just  as 
well,  though  they  were  as  sour  as  vinegar  and 
half  decomposed.  No  one  took  the  trouble  to 
cook  them  or  dry  them,  or  in  any  way  pre- 
serve them  for  winter  use. 

We  stopped  at  some  strange  places  in  the 
course  of  our  leisurely  journey,  and  the  mo- 
ment of  reckoning  was  always  a  delightful  one 

to  M.,  who  stood  discreetly  aloof  and  watched 

224 


Early  iVIornlnc;  on  the  Coast 


i     fi 


,    ^. 


(  '8, 


t     M 


\l 


f  ■  -si 


Cape  Smoky 


her  partner  feebly  struggling  in  unequal  con- 
test with  disciplined  and  inherited  Scotch 
"thrift."  No  matter  how  pleasant  our  inter-, 
course  with  the  family  had  been,  when  the 
time  caiTie  for  settling  the  account  there  was  a 
tightening  up,  so  to  speak,  of  voice  and  visage, 
we  were  regarded  with  intense  suspicion,  and 
our  indebtedness  announced  in  a  voice  so  hard 
and  cold  as  to  be  quite  terrifying.  The  man  — 
for  the  settlement  was  always  made  with  the 
man  —  knew  he  had  charged  more  than  value 
rendered,  and  was  prepared  to  combat  any 
remonstrance. 

But  when  the  matter  was  settled,  even  if  we 
won  a  few  points,  the  former  friendliness  re- 
turned, "  business "  was  over,  and  whatever 
firmness  we  had  displayed  was  far  from  having 
lowered  us  in  the  esteem  of  these  canny 
Scotchmen.  M.  said  they  liked  us  all  the 
better  for  it.  They  sometimes  excused  them- 
selves by  explaining  that  we  "had  money  in 
the  bank  and  could  pay  as  well  as  not,"  other- 
wise we  would  not  be  able  to  "  take  a  cruise  " 
just  for  pleasure. 

It  was  soon  after  leaving  Sandy  McDonald's 
that  we  pulled  up   short  to  keep  from  run- 


IS 


225 


\ 


i:'i 


'( 


ri 


\!;^ 


Down  North  and  Up  Alon^ 

ning  over  an  old  man  who  tottered  across  the 
road  under  Dan's  nose,  and  then  clasped  our 
front  wheel  in  both  bony  hands  as  though  to 
anchor  us  there.  He  gazed  at  us,  and  we  at 
him,  and  finally  we  spoke  to  him,  and  he  re- 
plied, "  Sorr?  "  Thinking  him  deaf,  we  spoke 
louder,  but  he  still  replied,  "  Sorr  ?  "  Then  it 
dawned  upon  us  that  we  were  talking  in  an 
unknown  tongue,  and  we  inquired  if  he  spoke 
Gaelic ;  "  garlic  **  they  pronounce  it  here.  He 
nodded  in  the  affirmative  and  also  assured  us 
that  he  could  "  speak  enough  English,"  and 
began  a  friendly  conversation  in  his  native 
Gaelic,  which  we  on  our  part  kept  up  in  well- 
chosen  English,  and  thus  we  passed  a  most 
agreeable  half-hour,  each  saying  exactly  what 
he  thought,  without  danger  of  giving  offence 
to  the  other. 

To  say  "  yes,  sir,  to  a  gentleman,  and  yes, 
ma'am,  to  a  lady,*'  has  evidently  been  a  part 
of  the  polite  education  of  these  regions,  but 
"  sorr  "  has  nearly  superseded  "  ma'am,"  being 
applied  universally  and  regardless  of  sex,  and  we 
received  the  polite  responses,  "  yes,  sorr,"  and 
"no,  sorr,"  the  whole  length  of  Cape  North,  — 
usually  with  unconscious  gravity,  but  in  the 

226 


^'^:<;J 


Cape  Smoky 


case  of  pretty  Katie  McPherson  it  was  the  cause 
of  much  confusion.  We  met  Katie  and  sev- 
eral other  little  girls  on  their  way  home  from 
school.  They  stood  aside,  with  downcast  eyes 
and  fingers  in  their  mouths,  to  let  us  pass,  for 
the  children  here  are  very  bashful,  but  when 
we  stopped  and  inquired  the  way  to  a  certain 
house,  Katie  rose  to  the  emergency  and  said, 
"  Sorr  ?  "  We  repeated  the  question  in  a 
friendly  and  beguiling  manner,  punctuating 
our  remarks  with  a  ginger  cooky  apiece,  for 
we  had  brought  a  supply  of  these  delectable 
things  for  just  such  occasions ;  and  Katie, 
from  amidst  her  gratitude  and  blushes,  was 
finally  able  to  articulate,  "  no,  sorr,"  then  the 
impropriety  of  her  remark  burst  upon  her  and 
she  quickly  amended,  "  no,  ma'am,"  nearly 
overcome  by  shame  and  the  fit  of  giggling 
that  seized  her. 

"  I  don't  think,"  which  seems  to  be  the  only 
form  of  speech  expressing  doubt  in  all  Nova 
Scotia,  is  also  frequently  heard  in  Cape  North. 
It  is  rather  disconcerting  at  first  to  inquire 
whether  your  road  takes  a  certain  direction  and 
be  sadly  informed  that  he  whom  you  address 
"  don't  think."     You  will  often  have  no  diifi* 

227 


II 


W^ 


mi 


it 


eH 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 

culty  in  believing  the  statement,  but  in  time 
will  learn  that  it  does  nol  mean  quite  what  it 
says. 

All  along  the  way  are  rounded  hillsides  cov- 
ered with  tawny  grass  and  run  over  by  large 
white  sheep  with  beautiful  fleeces.  The  sheep 
were  never  in  large  flocks,  but  in  groups  of 
half-a-dozen  or  so.  Sometimes  they  would 
come  tumbling  down  a  bank  by  the  roadside 
and  run  along  in  front  of  us  to  disappear  into 
the  first  gap  that  took  their  fancy.  But  gen- 
erally we  saw  them  on  the  hillsides  moving 
about,  or  bounding  in  graceful  undulations 
through  the  tawny  grass.  These  hillsides  were 
often  yellow  with  the  airy  August  flower,  which 
may  not  have  been  nutritious,  but  was  lovely 
in  company  with  the  large  soft-fleeced  sheep. 

It  being  harvest  time,  we  constantly  came 
upon  distracting  pictures  of  red-cheeked,  short- 
gowned  girls  among  the  yellow  barley,  stoop- 
ing, with  one  hand  grasping  the  ripe  grain, 
the  other  the  sickle,  and  eyeing  us  curiously 
as  they  stopped  midway  in  their  work,  or  else 
standing  erect,  arms  on  hips  and  sickle  still  in 
hand,  to  gaze  after  the  strangers.  Sometimes 
we   stopped  and  spoke  to   them,  but  seldom 

228 


W- 


r:(1 


Cape  Smoky 


with  much  result.  The  old  women  were  often 
seen  in  the  barley  patches,  equally  picturesque 
though  not  as  pretty  as  the  young  ones ;  and 
the  old,  old  men  were  sometimes  there,  those 
too  old  to  fish. 

Those  were  halcyon  days,  when  we  travelled 
toward  Cape  North  in  the  sunshine,  with  the 
invigorating  air  about  us,  the  barley  fields  yel- 
low with  ripe  grain  and  gay  with  the  reapers, 
and  the  sea  with  its  white  sails  ever  coming 
unexpectedly  into  view,  while  the  beautiful 
sheep  started  from  the  fir  woods  at  the  road- 
side or  bounded  over  the  flowery  hills. 

Cape  North  is  the  artist's  paradise  from  end 
to  end,  and  it  is  an  ideal  place  for  camping, 
with  its  fine  summer  weather,  its  refreshing 
brooks  at  short  intervals,  and  its  beautiful 
mountains  and  sea. 

On  the  way  to  Smoky,  one  passes  Wreck 
Cove,  its  name  sadly  significant,  for  every  year 
there  are  terrible  shipwrecks  along  this  iron- 
bound  coast.  Wreck  Cove,  however,  in  the 
summer-time  and  from  the  land  side,  is  terri- 
fying only  in  name,  for  about  it  are  lovely 
hills  that  make  of  it  a  miniature  Indian  Brook. 

As  one  nears  Smoky,  the  houses  and  barley 

229 


t 


■  \\ 


m 


/« 


1^     t^.|! 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 

fields  are  left  behind,  the  road  takes  a  turn  to 
the  left  and  runs  some  distance  into  the  land, 
following  a  very  noisy  water-course  which 
rushes  through  a  glen  at  the  right  and  which 
is  so  far  down  that  only  the  tops  of  the  trees  — 
mapies,  birches,  and  oaks  —  whose  roots  are  at 
its  level,  reach  to  the  road  where  we  "ourney. 
Much  of  the  time  we  cannot  see  it  through 
the  intervening  foliage,  but  again  we  catch 
glimpses  of  bright,  hurrying  water. 

This  is  one  of  those  mossy-banked  roads 
one  remembers  with  such  pleasure ;  and  at  a 
brook  which  crosses  it  we  stopped  one  day 
for  dinner,  that  we  might  be  rested  and  re- 
freshed for  the  difficult  passing  of  SrAoky, 
with  its  wonderful  views  and  its  terrifying 
precipices.  Over  a  camp-fire  such  as  we  had 
now  learned  to  make  with  skill,  we  prepared 
a  tempting  meal  of  broiled  "  American  "  bacon. 
Cape  Breton  potatoes  stewed  in  milk,  hard 
ship's  biscuit,  French  pickles,  and  a  cup  of 
coffee.  For  dessert  we  had  "  capillaire  "  ber- 
ries, exquisite  store  of  which  we  found  adorn- 
ing the  mossy  bank  near  which  we  rested. 
**  Capillaire "  is  the  pretty  name  there  given 
to  our  snowberry,  the  daintiest  darling  of  our 

230 


to 

O 


X 
< 


\ 


m 


•i  t'f  ■''■ 


Cape  Smoky 


northern  mountains.  Nothing  could  be  de- 
vised for  a  mossy  hank  lovelier  than  its  fairy- 
vines  tracing  an  embroidery  of  tiny  leaves 
over  the  moss,  or  hanging  in  a  curtain  over 
the  edge,  and  nothing  that  grows  cculd  be 
daintier  than  its  snowy  fruit  with  its  peculiar 
and  delicate  flavour. 

While  sitting  on  the  mossy  bank  beside  the 
snowberries,  we  had  the  added  pleasure  of 
being  croaked  to  by  ravens.  We  had  expected 
to  make  their  acquaintance,  if  we  were  so  for- 
tunate as  to  do  so  at  all,  the  other  side  of 
Smoky,  for  we  had  heard  they  nested  near 
Ingonish.  But  surely  these  great  black  fel- 
lows were  they,  though  probably  we  should 
not  have  discovered  it  had  they  kept  still. 
The  hoarse,  rattling  cry  that  revealed  their 
identity  and  surprised  and  delighted  us  was 
never  the  voic3  of  a  crow. 

On  a  firm  bridge  we  crossed  the  chasm  of 
the  deep-down  brook  we  had  been  following, 
and  began  to  ascend  &,  winding  road.  Occa- 
sional outlooks  through  the  trees  afforded  en- 
chanting glimpses  of  far-reaching  blue  sea,  of 
bold  bluffs  that  stood  on  the  edge  of  the  water 
and  of  intervening  valleys.     Rocky  slopes  near 

231 


'  1 1 

1^ 


\n 


'1* 


H 


^  • 


m 


:v^. 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 

us  were  grown  over  by  blueberry  bushes  with 
reddened  leaves  and  lavish  abundance  of  ripe 
fruit;  while  the  round-leaved,  aromatic  winter- 
green  of  our  childhood  deeply  carpeted  the 
wayside.  Heavy  growths  of  ferns  and  brakes 
filled  the  hollows.  We  went  slowly,  even  more 
slowly  than  the  rising  grade  demanded,  often 
stopping  to  enjoy  the  wildness  and  the  sweet- 
ness of  the  way.  As  we  went  on,  the  expand- 
ing views  and  the  greater  depths  into  which  we 
looked  told  us  we  were  nearing  the  top. 

No  perils  of  the  way  had  been  encountered 
until  of  a  sudden  we  came  upon  a  ledge  where 
were  realised  our  hopes  of  Smoky  and  almost 
our  fears.  On  our  left  rose  the  wall  of  the 
mountain,  while  between  that  and  the  deep 
descent  to  the  sea  was  the  ledge  upon  which 
the  road  had  been  built.  It  was  a  good 
enough  road  now,  buttressed  by  heavy  planks 
and  widened  by  broken  stone,  but  it  was  easy 
to  see  how  in  other  times  it  had  been  a  slant- 
ing and  dangerous  trail  where  the  traveller 
might  have  met  with  disaster.  The  view  was 
of  the  sea  over  the  tree-tops  that  grew  on  the 
lower  slopes.  It  was  a  lofty  perch,  from  which 
the  sails  looked  like  white  dots  on  the  water. 

232 


Cape  Smoky 


We  passed  this  ledge  and  went  on  through 
the  woods  soon  to  turn  a  corner  and  find  our- 
selves upon  a  similar  ledge  and  facing  the 
majestic  form  of  Cape  Smoky. 

It  stood  across  an  abyss  from  us,  a  bold  front 
of  red  syenite  rising  nearly  a  thousand  feet  up 
out  of  the  sea  in  a  very  steep  slope.  Its  vast, 
storm-polished  front  was  bare  and  scarred 
except  where  near  the  top  the  blueberry  and 
other  bushes  had  painted  it  warm  tones  of  red 
and  yellow.  The  hard  syenite  had  resisted  the 
merciless  dash  of  winter  sleet  and  the  yet  more 
merciless  action  of  the  frost  to  a  wonderful 
degree.  Instead  of  being  torn  and  jagged,  the 
splendid  sweep  of  stone  was  smooth  and  in 
places  fairly  polished. 

There  was  no  cloud  about  the  brow  of 
Smoky  then  ;  the  massive  form  lay  before  us 
in  the  light  of  a  clear  day,  sharp-cut  against 
the  blue  above  and  the  blue  below,  for  the 
sea  line  was  high  on  Smoky's  flank  from  where 
we  stood. 

Out  of  the  blue  sea  the  form  of  the  ruddy 
headland  rose  in  the  clear  northern  air,  while 
back  of  it,  though  not  visible  from  this  point, 
were  other  fire-born  mountains  of  yet  greater 

233 


1; 


.,""1 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 

height,  but  all  more  or  less  softened  by  time 
and  clad  in  vegetation. 

Only  Smoky's  stern  front  remains  bare  to  the 
terrific  storms  that  in  vain  assail  it  and  that 
cause  the  waves  to  beat  with  frightful  but 
unavailing  force  against  its  iron  base.  Filled 
with  a  sense  of  its  immutability  and  impressed 
by  its  stern  grandeur,  we  wound  along  our 
narrow  ledge  and  down  behind  the  mighty 
headland. 


!l; 


\ 


i! 


I'j 


«34 


.     "   "•         •    '^M 


XVI 
INGONISH 


BACK  of  Smoky  the  road  winds  up  hill 
and  down,  through  closely  wooded 
hollows  and  over  barren  highlands. 
The  sea  is  lost  and  the  glory  thereof, 
the  impressive  and  beautiful  headlands  that 
abut  upon  the  coast  are  not  in  view,  the  stu- 
pendous front  of  Smoky  has  vanished.  We 
found  it  a  road  diversified  by  pleasing  but 
milder  aspects  of  nature,  where  the  highway 
finally  assumed  the  appearance  of  a  grass-grown 
lane,  and  where  the  trees  were  oaks,  maples, 
and  birches. 

Then  came  a  roar  like  a  great  wind  in  the 
trees  and  a  glen  deep  and  dark  opened  along 
our  right  hand,  a  turbulent  brook  shouting  from 
its  depths. 

We  followed  this  glen,  now  on  its  verge, 
now  so  far  away  that  only  the  voice  of  the 
brook  told  where  it  was ;  and  finally  we  struck 
once  more  across  barren  ridges,  and  through 
hollows  where  the  fir-tree  reigned;  and  finally, 

235 


^^n 


I  i 


H 

if- 


i; 


» fit 


'i 


IS* 


n 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 

a  steep  climb,  a  sudden  turn,  and  before  us  lay 
the  far-famed,  the  lovely  Ingonish. 

It  was  near  the  hour  of  sunset  that  we 
came  upon  Ingonish  set  in  her  mountains  and 
touched  by  the  sea.  There  is  a  glory  of  north- 
ern skies  than  which  no  southern  splendour  is 
ever  sweeter  or  more  tender.  That  glory  lay 
upon  the  sea  and  the  mountains  of  Ingonish  as 
we  came  upon  them. 

A  river  broke  through  the  hills  to  the  north 
and  found  its  way  into  a  bay  almost  closed  by 
a  cobblestone  bar  similar  to  that  of  English- 
town,  but  on  a  much  larger  scale.  Beyond  the 
bar  lay  another  calm  bay,  while  mountains  of 
exquisite  beauty  rose  tier  upon  tier  from  the 
very  water's  edge  and  half  encircled  the  Bay  of 
Ingonish.  We  descended  a  steep  hill  that 
turned  on  itself  in  a  sudden  curve,  and  soon 
found  ourselves  on  the  shore  facing  the  Ingo- 
nish ferry,  which  is  far  more  formidable  than 
the  one  at  Englishtown.  The  surf  ground  the 
pebbles  on  the  shore,  and  we  had  to  be  rowed 
over  a  long  stretch  of  restless  sea  to  the  cob- 
blestone bar.  But  Dan  did  not  disappoint  us; 
he  climbed  into  the  ferryboat  at  Ingonish  as 

cleverly  as  he  had  into  the  one  at  Englishtown. 

236 


Ingonish 

We  were  touched  by  the  exceeding  beauty 
of  the  mountains  as  we  looked  back  toward  the 
shore.  To  our  left  lay  Smoky,  for  we  now 
saw  the  opposite  side  of  that  fine  headland. 
It  swept  up  from  the  sea,  but  not  in  an 
unbroken  line,  for  on  this  side  it  was  buttressed 
by  cliffs,  while  about  its  brow  had  collected  the 
mist  wraiths  that  give  it  its  name.  In  front  of 
us  and  to  the  right,  mountain  looked  above 
mountain  encircling  the  water  with  gracious 
forms  of  dlvinest  colour,  for  over  the  earth  the 
setting  sun  haa  spread  a  glow  that  made 
poetical  the  mountains,  deepening  the  shadows 
in  the  hollows  and  softening  the  beautiful 
outlines.  In  the  sky  above  and  reflecting  over 
land  and  sea  was  a  strange  and  delicious  har- 
mony of  dark  purples,  blues,  and  greens ; 
while  against  the  sky  Smoky's  red  front  caught 
a  deeper  and  a  softer  hue. 

There  was  a  sense  of  great  calm  and  un- 
utterable peace  in  the  scene.  The  world 
seemed  too  fair  for  strife  or  unrest  of  any  kind. 
It  was  a  rare  moment,  and  the  South  Bay  of 
Ingonish  will  always  stay  in  our  memories  as 
one  of  the  loveliest  scenes  we  ever  beheld.  It 
is  lovely  not  only  at  sunset  or  at  sunrise,  but 

a37 


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fi 


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Down  North  and  Up  Along 

what  is  n.  re  rare,  even  at  midday.  The 
mountains  have  a  marvellous  charm  of  com- 
position, the  finest  view  being  near  the  shore 
of  the  mainland,  though  from  any  point  it  can- 
not fail  to  give  pleasure. 

There  is  an  island  at  the  mouth  of  the 
harbour  which  shuts  it  from  the  force  of  the  sea, 
and  upon  which  stands  the  inevitable  light- 
house. 

We  crossed  the  ferry  to  the  cobblestone 
bar,  where  stood  some  fish-huts  and  a  boat- 
landing,  for  the  boat  stops  here  on  its  way 
from  Halifax  to  Newfoundland. 

Beyond  the  bar  was  a  beautiful  beach  pro- 
tected by  a  rocky  point  of  land  from  the  force 
of  the  sea,  that  otherwise  would  soon  have 
covered  it  with  cobblestones.  We  were  told 
that  the  water  here  is  as  warm  as  that  much 
farther  south,  and  that  the  bathing  in  the 
summer  months  is  delightful. 

There  was  a  tent  close  to  the  house  where 

we  stayed,  and  here  was  a  doctor,  who,  being 

in  need  of  rest  and  a  little  fishing,  had  been 

spending  the  summer.    It  was  to  him  we  owed 

our  introduction  to  the  art  of  angling. 

It  is  true  we  had  Mr.  A.'s  rod  along,  but  it 

238 


Ingonish 


was  still  strapped  to  the  back  of  the  seat,  for 
our  experience  in  fishing  dated  a  long  way 
back  and  had  been  of  a  very  simple  nature, 
and  we  had  too  much  respect  for  the  mysteries 
of  the  craft  to  trust  to  the  memories  of  our 
childhood.  But  encouraged  by  the  learned 
doctor,  we  cast  our  line  into  the  waters  of  the 
bay,  standing  meanwhile  on  the  loose  boards 
of  a  peculiarly  rickety  wharf,  and  drew  forth 
many  smelts. 

There  is  a  curious  and  irresistible  fascina- 
tion connected  with  pulling  fish  out  of  the 
water  that  admits  of  no  reasonable  explanation. 
It  ensnares  the  victim,  regardless  of  sex  or 
previous  habits,  and  to  my  bewilderment  it 
ensnared  my  companion,  the  most  tender- 
hearted of  mortals,  and  who  up  to  that  time 
had  shuddered  at  the  thought  of  touching  a 
cold,  wet  fish. 

She  was  standing  on  the  wharf  watching 
us  when  the  doctor,  ignorant  of  her  distaste 
for  angling,  in  the  kindness  of  his  heart 
put  his  rod  into  her  hand,  which  she,  out 
of  politeness,  held  for  a  moment.  But  this 
moment  was  fatal.  There  came  a  twitch  to 
the   line   that   sent   a   strange   thrill    through 

239 


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23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

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Down  North  and  Up  Along 

her,  and  with  glowing  eyes  she  —  landed  a 
smelt. 

The  gods  play  strange  pranks  with  us  poor 
mortals,  and  never  did  they  play  a  stranger 
than  when  they  converted  M.  into  the  most 
inveterate  disciple  of  Izaak  Walton  through 
the  medium  of  one  wretched  little  salt-water 
smelt. 

In  this  case,  catching  the  fish  had  the  very 
agreeable  sequence  of  cooking  them  out  of 
doors  and  eating  them. 

Our  gypsy  dinners  cooked  at  noon  by  the 
wayside  were  the  one  substantial  meal  of  the 
day,  breakfast  and  supper  consisting  of  oat- 
meal porridge,  sometimes  without  milk,  and 
toasted  bread,  sour,  as  a  rule,  though  if  we 
asked  for  them,  we  could  generally  get  an  egg 
and  some  salt  fish. 

But  those  midday  meals  !  the  flavour  of  them, 
with  the  aroma  of  the  wood-fire  clinging  about 
the  viands,  and  the  hunger  that  waited  upon 
them  !  Even  to  think  of  them  at  this  late  day 
is  enough  to  quicken  the  appetite. 

Up  to  this  time  we  had  found  that  the 
canned  or  smoked  meat  of  our  native  land 
with  the  addition  of  ship  biscuit,  milk  from  a 

240 


Ingonish 


wayside  cottage,  and  a  penny's  worth  of  Cape 
Breton  potatoes  capable  of  being  prepared  in 
many  appetising  ways  completely  satisfied  us ; 
but  now  all  was  changed.  We  entered  upon 
an  era  of  camp  cooking  that  revolutionised 
our  previous  habits  and  converted  us  for  all 
time  to  come  into  exacting  epicures. 

On  the  stones  by  a  brook-side  we  cooked 
and  ate  the  result  of  our  first  day's  fishing,  — 
smelts,  and  a  few  small  bass.  Smelts  are  more 
delicate  in  flavour  than  bass,  and  they  possess 
the  great  advantage  of  being  without  scales. 
The  scaHng  of  a  small  bass  is  infinitely  more 
entertaining  to  the  onlooker  than  to  the  opera- 
tor. The  slippery  little  thing  has  to  be  held 
by  its  slippery  little  tail  while  one  scrapes 
against  the  scales,  and  consequently  the  ex- 
asperating object  is  flying  through  the  air  most 
of  the  time. 

The  doctor  did  not  spend  much  time  fish- 
ing off  the  wharf,  as  certain  large  brook  trout 
in  his  tent  testified.  He  had  preserved  the 
largest  and  displayed  their  dried  forms  with 
exceeding  great  pride.  He  explained  to  us  his 
way  of  curing  them  and  considered  a  pound 

and  a  half  a  good  size  for  a  trout,  though  the 
i6  241 


at 


ff 


it 

°i       < 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 

best  of  those  on  his  table  had  weighed  twice  and 
three  times  that  much  before  they  were  cured, 
so  he  said.  He  thought  it  a  great  pity  that 
trout  shrink  up  and  lose  weight  so  when  cured. 

He  had  caught  endless  dozens  of  trout,  the 
smaller  of  which  he  had  sent  to  distant  friends, 
but  the  largest  he  could  not  part  with  and  kept 
their  smoked  and  shining  forms  spread  out  on 
his  table. 

From  this  time  forth  our  peace  of  mind  was 
gone  ;  we  were  the  victims  of  the  "  gentle  art 
of  angling,"  and  looked  at  the  rushing  brooks 
not  so  much  to  admire  as  to  wonder  about  the 
speckled  trout  hiding  in  their  pools. 

There  are  two  Ingonishes.  They  are  both 
accented  on  the  last  syllable,  and  are  separated 
from  each  other  by  a  long  neck  of  land  known 
as  Middlehead. 

This  neck  cuts  the  broad  bay,  that  would 
otherwise  exist,  in  two,  and  forms  the  lovely 
South  Bay  and  the  almost  equally  charming 
North  Bay.  To  go  from  one  to  the  other,  a 
distance  of  about  eight  miles,  the  road  passes 
across  the  mainland  end  of  the  neck,  and  one 
loses  sight  of  the  water,  though  never  far  from 
it. 

242 


^1 


\ 


n 


Ingonish 


Two  miles  from  South  Ingonish  on  the  road 
to  the  north,  one  crosses  a  bridge,  and  just  the 
other  side  of  it  an  obscure  track  turns  off  to 
the  left.  It  is  stony  and  rough,  and  in  one 
place  rather  alarmingly  steep,  but  it  passes 
along  a  valley,  mountain-guarded  and  traversed 
by  a  brook.  After  following  the  track  two  or 
three  miles,  the  brook  is  found  quite  close  to  it, 
and  one  comes  almost  under  the  great  cliff  of 
rock  known  as  Franey's  chimney.  This  ap- 
pears to  have  been  split  from  the  mountain 
wall  behind  it,  and  stands  forth  a  massive,  frown- 
ing form  as  though  on  guard  over  the  wild 
glen  and  the  rugged  cliffs  of  the  mountains 
about. 

It  is  a  wild  place  down  there  under  Franey's 
chimney,  a  lonely  place  where  one  would  not 
be  surprised  to  see  antlers  or  the  clumsy  form 
of  the  bear  that  we  knew  frequented  these 
mountains. 

Here  we  camped, —  that  is,  we  gave  Dan  a 
limited  freedom,  —  unpacked  the  fishing-rod, 
which  had  suddenly  become  an  object  of  vital 
interest  in  our  eyes,  and  took  our  way  across  a 
stretch  of  meadow  to  the  brook-side.  We 
soon  came  upon  a  series  of  dark  pools  close  to 

243 


'ivi 


H\ 


^1^' 


\  \ 


'I  ■  •■  • 


\. 


ij . 


In 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 

the  shore,  and  with  little  expectation  of  draw- 
ing forth  anything  so  "  said  and  sung  "  about 
as  a  speckled  trout,  with  our  unskilled  hands, 
we  hardened  our  hearts  and  strung  upon  the 
hook  a  large  angleworm,  distinguished  by  a 
magnificent  wriggle,  condoning  the  offence  by 
the  reflection  that  according  to  the  latest  word 
of  science  upon  the  nervous  system  of  the 
worm,  it  does  not  really  suffer  when  thus  mis- 
used. This  we  seductively  dropped  into  a 
pool,  with  no  real  expectation,  for  there  have 
been  many  books  writ  upon  trout-fishing,  and 
we  supposed  that  only  an  artificial  fly  of  strange 
construction,  thrown  with  secret  and  consum- 
mate skill,  could  land  one  of  these  famous 
creatures.  And  we  knew  ourselves  for  simple 
folk  with  no  wiles  but  such  as  could  be  offered 
by  a  plain  angleworm,  a  live  one  at  that,  with 
not  an  artificial  hair  on  its  head. 

Still,  no  sooner  had  our  plebeian  worm 
entered  the  dark  pool  than  there  came  a  thrill- 
ing twitch  to  the  line,  and  we  flun^  upon  the 
bank  as  pretty  a  red  and  gold  speckled  trout 
as  one  could  ask  to  see,  thereby  dispelling  for 
ever  the  almost  religious  mystery  that  had  here- 
tofore enveloped  trout-fishing  in    our  minds. 

244 


ong 


dF  draw- 
"  about 
d  hands, 
ipon  the 
ed  by  a 
Fence  by 
?st  word 

of  the 
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l  into  a 
ere  have 
ing,  and 
F  strange 
consum- 

famous 
r  simple 
I  offered 
lat,  with 

I  worm 
a  thrill- 
pon  the 
d  trout 
ling  for 
id  here- 
minds. 


Catching  Trout  for  Dixner 


'  it  J 


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Ingonish 

We  then  and  there  made  the  important  dis- 
covery that,  notwithstanding  the  glamour  of 
romance  in  which  the  books  have  enveloped 
them,  brook  trout  are  mere  fish,  after  all.  They 
swallow  a  worm  with  a  hook  inside  just  as  the 
"  sunfish  "  in  the  mill-pond  of  our  childhood 
used  to  swallow  a  bent  pin  under  the  same 
circumstances.  We  afterward  wished  we  had 
tried  a  bent  pin  on  the  trout,  to  complete  the 
confusion  of  those  writers  who  have  for  so 
long  a  time  been  imposing  on  a  too  credu- 
lous public. 

These  thoughts  did  not  trouble  us  at  the 
moment,  however,  for,  after  all,  there  is  a  magi- 
cal fascination  in  a  brook  trout,  which  can  no 
more  be  resisted  than  it  can  be  explained. 

Probably  no  trout  is  ever  half  so  beautiful  as 
the  first  one  caught.  Our  acquaintance  with 
them  heretofore  had  been  in  picture-books, 
or  nicely  browned  on  the  table,  but  here  lay  a 
live  one  in  the  green  grass,  all  speckled  and 
coloured  like  a  rainbow,  and  no  wonder  great 
Franey  leaned  out  of  the  sky  to  see. 

There  was  but  one  rod,  and  two  ot  us,  and 
we  took  turns  and  agonised  between,  knowing 
so  well  we  could  get  the  proverbial  big  one  out 

245 


fH 


I' 


\  \\ 


i 


5J 


I  i 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 

of  the  pool,  if  it  had  only  happened  to  be  our 
turn.  But  when  our  turn  came,  we  never  got 
the  big  one.  We  caught  any  number  of  small 
ones,  however,  and  lost  more  than  we  caught, 
for  they  had  a  way  of  jumping  off  the  hook  in 
mid-air  and  falling  back  into  the  water  with  a 
shake  and  a  flirt.  The  largest  ones  invariably 
did  this,  and  did  it  with  such  apparent  intention 
and  malice  that  we  began  to  think  there  might 
be  something  in  the  books,  after  all. 

They  were  so  pretty  we  hated  to  cook  them ; 
some  were  dark  in  colour  with  deep-coloured 
spots ;  and  some  were  golden-brown,  almost 
as  though  saturated  with  light,  with  lighter 
and  brighter  spots,  and  these  were  the  prettiest. 
We  did  cook  them ;  and  what  could  be  daintier 
or  more  delicious  than  the  snowy-white  or 
salmon-pink  morsels  that  came  out  of  the 
frying-pan  ?  We  ate  all  we  caught,  and  would 
not  like  to  say  how  many  that  was. 

Nor  did  this  end  the  adventures  of  that  day 
under  Franey.  While  resting  after  our  delect- 
able dinner  and  the  exciting  events  of  the  morn- 
ing, we  saw  a  small  party  of  men  and  boys 
advancing  down  the  glen.  They  were  burdened 
with  something  they  bore  upon  poles  resting  on 

246 


Ingonish 


their  shoulders,  and  we  went  to  see  what  it  was. 
What  was  our  surprise  to  find  the  skins  and 
flesh  of  two  bears  which  they  had  just  killed 
on  the  back  or*  the  mountain  beneath  which  we 
were  resting.  They  were  young  bears,  and 
had  been  feeding  for  many  days  on  the  blue- 
berries that  cover  the  mountains  ;  they  were 
very  fat  and  their  flesh  was  good,  and  one  of 
the  men  cut  us  a  piece  from  a  hind-quarter. 
This  was  the  first  fresh  meat  we  had  seen  since 
leaving  Baddeck,  and  we  took  it,  though  not 
without  misgivings.  It  seemed  too  bad  to 
have  killed  the  little  bears  playing  among  the 
blueberries  on  the  mountain-top ;  and  then 
one  hesitates  to  eat  the  flesh  of  a  creature  that 
can  be  taught  to  walk  upright,  and  even  to 
dance.  Still,  there  was  another  side  to  it,  and 
we  no  doubt  had  reason  to  be  thankful  that 
the  bears  had  not  taken  a  notion  to  hunt  us, 
while  the  men  on  the  mountains  were  hunting 
them.  To  an  unprejudiced  mind  it  is  as  fair 
for  people  to  eat  bears  as  for  bears  to  eat  peo- 
ple, the  only  question  being  which  can  catch 
the  other. 

So  we  took  the  bear-meat  and  also  a  pail  of 
the  blueberries  the  men  had  picked,  for  they 

247 


h 


,  r 


W     I 


ir 


Down  North  and  Up  A  long 

had  got  not  only  the  hears  but  the  berries  the 
bears  had  wanted  to  get.  They  were  enor- 
mous blueberries ;  we  never  saw  so  large  be- 
fore nor  since,  and  they  were  sweet  and  juicy. 
The  bears  know  what  they  are  about  when 
they  go  to  the  mountains  for  blueberries. 

We  entered  North  Ingonish,  as  we  had  en- 
tered South  Ingonish,  toward  the  end  of  the 
afternoon.  Its  bay  is  more  open  to  the  sea, 
and  has  not  the  inner  harbour  of  the  South 
Bay.  The  mountains  are  about  it,  more  dis- 
tant, but  still  lovely,  and  before  it  lies  a  beach 
of  exceeding  beauty  and  grandeur.  It  sweeps 
in  a  long  and  beautiful  curve  half-way  around 
the  bay,  lines  of  splendid  breakers  rolling  in. 
It  is  a  wide  beach  of  fine  sand  and  slopes 
gently  to  the  sea,  where  the  snowy  breakers 
repeat  the  exquisite  curve  of  the  shore. 

North  Ingonish  is  very  beautiful,  though 
quite  different  from  South  Ingonish.  Its  more 
distant  mountains  were  lovely  in  the  evening 
light  in  which  we  first  saw  them  and  its  circling 
beach  and  wide  bay.  Smoky  was  visible, 
though  softened  by  the  distance,  as  was  also 
the  contour  of  the  surrounding  headlands. 

We  were  not  prepared  for  the  astonishing 

248 


Ingonish 

beauty  of  the  Ingonishes,  nor  did  it  seem  pos- 
sible they  could  lie  there  so  lonely  in  their 
loveliness,  unvisited  by  pleasure-seeking  man. 

The  Ingonish  people  are  fishermen,  and  are 
principally  Irish  and  Scotch  Catholics.  Like 
Englishtown  the  place  was  known  long  ago, 
and  was  at  one  time  a  flourishing  French  fish- 
ing settlement,  but  war  required  victims,  and 
the  men  of  Ingonish  were  drawn  away  to  fight 
instead  of  fish,  and  the  place,  like  St.  Anne,  was 
finally  wrested  from  the  French  by  the  English 
of  Commodore  Warren's  fleet. 

Traces  of  the  period  of  French  prosperity 
are  said  still  to  exist,  though  we  did  not  know 
about  them  at  the  time,  and  no  one  volun- 
teered information  concerning  the  relics  of  the 
past.  It  seems  that  a  large  church  was  built 
here,  and  in  1 849  a  bell  weighing  not  less  than 
two  hundred  pounds  was  dug  out  of  the  sand 
of  the  beach.  It  bore  a  French  inscription 
and  was  marked  St.  Malo,  1729,  and  was  said 
to  have  had  a  remarkably  clear  tone  which 
must  have  been  heard  far  out  to  sea.  It  was 
carried  away  to  Sydney,  which  the  people  of 
Ingonish  never  should  have  allowed. 

In   1740,  the  records  tell  us,  Ingonish  was 

249 


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1; 

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Im 

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Down  North  and  Up  ytlong 


the  second  town  of  Cape  Breton,  and  its  fleet 
caught  1^,560  quintals  of  fisli.  This  is  tliat 
Niganiche  where  the  French  in  olden  time 
went  a-fishing,  anil  wliere  a  {)aternal  govern- 
ment ordered  them  away  to  the  safe  harbour 
of  Port  Dauphin,  as  St.  Anne  was  called,  after 
the  fifteenth  of  August. 

"  From  Port  Dauphin  we  arrived  at  Niga- 
niche," says  Pinchon,  *'  which  \^  only  a  road, 
where  the  vessels  are  far  from  being  safe  ;  but 
there  is  great  plenty  of  codfish.  Yet  as  it 
must  be  deserted  at  a  certain  season,  and  the 
country  thereabouts  is  quite  barren,  tiiere  are 
hardly  any  dwellings  upon  the  place.  Even 
those  few  inhabitants  are  obliged  to  fetch  their 
wood  for  firing  from  Port  Daujihin." 

Ingonish  may  well  have  discourjiged  a 
people  obliged  to  live  on  what  they  found 
there.  But  the  day  will  come  when  its  beauty 
will  bring  it  a  larger  revenue  than  its  codfish 
ever  have  brought  or  ever  will  bring. 

The  highlands  back  of  Ingonish  used  to  be 
noted  for  the  large  game  found  there.  Caribou 
and  moose  are  said  to  have  once  existed  in 
almost  incredible  numbers.     But  this  is  not  a 

pleasant  topic,  for  the  deer  were  slaughtered 

250 


Ingonish 


in  the  most  ruthless  manner  because  their  hides 
brought  the  sum  of  ten  shillings  each  ;  and 
what  mattered  the  extermination  of  the  noblest 
animals  of  the  country  compared  to  ten  shill- 
ings in  a  man's  pocket? 

We  are  told  that  in  1729  over  nine  thou- 
saml  moose  were  killed  for  their  skins  alone, 
and  that  for  many  years  this  wholesale  slaughter 
was  kept  up  unciicckcd.  So  great  was  the 
stench  from  the  decaying  bodies  that  sailors 
knew  by  that  alone  when  they  were  approach- 
ing the  north  shore  of  Cape  Breton. 

It  is  needless  to  comment  upon  the  result. 
All  too  late  a  body  of  troops  was  stationed  at 
Ingonish  to  protect  the  moose,  but  there  were 
few  left  to  need  protection,  and  since  then  the 
unequal  contest  has  gone  on,  Indians  and 
sportsmen  combining  to  destroy  the  noble 
animal,  until  now  it  and  the  caribou  are  almost 
exterminated  in  the  highlands  about   Ingonish. 

We  saw  no  quails  in  our  travels,  for  w;  were 
a  little  too  far  north  for  them,  but  the  Canada 
or  spruce  grouse  in  small  companies  ran  along 
the  road  in  front  of  the  horse  exhibiting  very 
little  fear. 

Ingonish  is   not  wholly  inaccessible,   nor  is 

251 


^i 


\ 


4 

V 


lil 


J 


f  I 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 

North  Ingonish  devoid  of  comforts  for  the 
visitor. 

A  small  steamboat,  the  "  Harlow,"  runs  from 
Halifax  to  Newfoundland,  stopping  at  Bad- 
deck,  Englishtown,  South  and  North  Ingonish, 
and  north  of  these  places  at  Aspy  Bay  and 
Bay  St.  Lawrence. 

The  "  Harlow "  carries  a  siren  which  once 
was  the  cause  of  great  consternation  along  this 
lovely  coast,  for  the  boat  and  her  siren  came 
without  warning,  and  the  people  one  night  were 
terrified  by  a  wild  and  awful  yell  as  of  some 
frightful  demon  rushing  in  from  the  sea.  They 
are  said  to  have  fled  inland  and  remained  in 
the  forest  trembling  through  the  night,  until 
daylight  gave  them  courage  to  creep  forth  and 
question  the  source  of  the  frightful  noise. 
Unexpectedly  to  hear  the  "  Harlow's"  siren 
along  that  lonely  shore  might  well  cause  a  thrill 
to  any  nerves. 

At  Ingonish  Is  the  first  public-house  after 
leaving  Paddeck,  —  a  pleasant  place  on  a  beau- 
tiful site,  with  sea  and  mountains  before  the 
door,  and  very  well  kept. 

This  house  is  approached  through  a  lane 
bordered  by  fish-flakes  of  a   size  intermediate 

352 


/;; 


'g 


onts. 


between  those  of  Digby  and  French  River, 
and  upon  them  were  drying  the  everlasting  cod. 
The  family,  too,  keeps  the  store,  that  opens  on 
the  lane,  and  doubtless  the  post-office  is  there, 
for  the  postman  drives  in  his  two-wheeled  cart 
from  Baddeck  up  along  when  the  weather  is 
fit,  but  in  winter  he  carries  his  budget  on  a 
sledge  drawn  by  dogs. 

There  are  wharves  for  the  fishing-boats  at 
North  Ingonish ;  and  these,  with  the  boats 
lying  about,  give  it  a  pleasing  touch  of  the 
picturesque. 

Ingonish  is  the  end  of  the  tourists*  explora- 
tions as  a  rule.  Few  find  their  way  thither, 
still  fewer  go  north  of  there ;  and  as  we  looked 
toward  the  mysterious  and  yet  distant  Cape 
North,  we  had  the  pleasurable  feeling  that  it  at 
least  was  all  our  own. 


% 


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V:     11 


1*1 


XVII 
THE   HALF   WAY    HOUSE 

FROM    Ingonish   to   Asp/   Bay  is   a 
frightful  country,  almost  uninhabited, 
excepting  for  the  settlement  of  Neils 
Harbour,  which    lies   on   the   rocky 
coast  a  mile  from  the  Half  Way  House. 

The  Half  Way  House  is  eighteen  miles 
from  Ingonish  and  was  put  in  the  wilderness 
by  the  government  for  the  succour  of  those 
obliged  to  pass  that  way,  for  it  is  said  that 
formerly  people  perished  on  the  mountains  or 
in  the  swamps.  In  bad  weather  it  must  be 
very  difficult  to  cross  that  country ;  and  the 
Half  Way  House  with  its  warmth  and  good 
cheer  n  uFt  be  a  welcome  sight  to  the  weary 
and  half-frozen  traveller. 

Climbing  the  hill  out  of  Ingonish,  we  looked 
constantly  back  at  the  beautiful  and  unfolding 
views.  The  road  was  so  stony  and  weather- 
worn that  part  of  the  time  we  preferred  to 
walk,  and  Dan  preferred  that  we  should.  We 
came   to    an    occasional    lonely    starved    little 

254 


^11  i 


T^ie  Half  Way  House 

farm,  where  the  women  with  their  kerchiefs 
and  gleaming  sickles  were  at  work  in  the  yel- 
low barley  patches.  We  stopped  each  time  to 
pass  a  word  and  see  their  faces  lighten,  as  we 
told  them  Parson  Gibbons  had  sent  us  to  see 
their  country  and  had  sent  messages  to  them. 
They  all  asked  eagerly  when  he  was  coming 
back. 

We  crossed  a  bridge  and  turned  into  the 
bushes  to  let  a  waggon  pass.  Instead  of  pass- 
ing, it  stopped  in  a  friendly  way  while  we  told 
our  names,  where  we  came  from,  and  whither 
we  were  going.  It  contained  Mrs.  Morri- 
son of  Green  Cove  and  Mr.  Timmons,  and 
they  were  on  their  way  to  Mrs.  Timmons's 
mother's,  for  we,  too,  had  learned  to  be  polite 
and  ask  questions. 

Soon  there  were  no  more  barley  patches  and 
the  road  dwindled  .o  a  mere  track  where  the 
horse  waded  up  to  his  middle  in  grass,  ever- 
lasting, and  golden-rod,  and  finally  plunged 
into  the  dismal  swamp  that  crosses  the  country 
here.  We  laboured  for  several  miles  through 
as  desolate  a  region  as  one  need  care  to 
know.  It  was  for  the  most  part  an  alder- 
choked  swampj  the  road  cut  through  a  solid 

255 


;( 


.•**.«•««  -  **-*  ♦  ,,  . 


"trtH*,  4»--  -•*■•' 


-y».~:,- 


'  T) 

H 

1 1 
1 ' 

I 

:  i 

''■  'i 

,1 

.  i'! 

^'! 

Down  North  and  Up  Along 

^^^.^   i  II  I  I  ■!■■■■     I  I  ■  ■■  .  I  I  .  11  ■— ».i  HI—  .i-.-i.  Ill  m 

wall  of  gloomy  green,  the  wheels  oftentimes 
hub-deep  in  mud,  while  stones  in  the  ruts 
constantly  canted  the  waggon  to  one  side  or 
the  other.  This  sort  of  enjoyment  was  diver- 
sified by  more  open  places  where  mud  and 
stones  gave  place  to  all  stones,  and  where  were 
sepulchral  reaches  of  dead  trees,  their  branches 
all  fallen  away,  and  the  trunks  and  limbs  shin- 
ing ghostly  white.  From  time  to  time  we 
caught  glimpses  of  stony  and  barren  high- 
lands, only  cu  plunge  hopelessly  into  alders 
and  mud  again.  We  named  this  charming 
road  the  Melancholy  Way  of  the  Alders,  and 
whoever  passes  that  way  will  agree  that  it 
deserves  its  name. 

We  met  no  one,  and  so  we  shall  never  know 
what  would  have  happened  if  we  had,  in  that 
narrow  alley  where  one  could  scarcely  have 
pulled  out  of  the  deep  ruts  even  if  there  had 
been  any  place  to  pull  to. 

Many  stories  are  told  of  this  swamp ;  one 

is  that  whoever  steps  into  it  cannot  step  out 

again  until  the  next  day.     We  also  heard  of 

the  traveller  who,  passing  the  gloomy  road  one 

summer  night,  saw  a  light  in  the  swamp,  and 

upon  stopping  and  shouting  elicited  the  infor- 

256 


M 


i 


The  Half  Way  House 

■'-  —  -  ■  -.  ^ 

mation  that  it  proceeded  from  the  pipe  of  an 
old  woman  who,  having  inadvertently  stepped 
in  and  knowing  the  legend,  was  philosophically 
biding  her  time  and  making  the  best  of  a  bad 
matter  by  solacing  the  dreary  hours  with  her 
pipe  until  daylight  should  come  to  break  the 
spell  and  set  her  free. 

This  recalled  another  story  that  shows  how 
good  a  thing  superstition  is  in  other  people, 
if  one  only  knows  how  to  make  use  of  it.  It 
is  said  the  Highlanders  of  Cape  North  have 
more  or  less  faith  in  bogies  and  a  correspond- 
ing fear  of  them.  Somewhere  along  the  coast 
is  a  rocky  seat  known  as  the  devil's  chair,  and 
a  strange  light  was  frequently  seen  here  at 
night,  to  the  blood-curdling  horror  of  the 
beholder. 

The  same  traveller,  who  was  not  a  High- 
lander, and  who  had  no  fear  of  bogies,  one 
night  shied  a  stone,  all  too  well  aimed,  which 
extinguished  the  light  and  raised  a  frightened 
howl  from  the  bogy,  who  doubtless  thought 
all  bogy-land  was  after  her  in  earnest,  for  the 
pseudo-bogy  was  a  poor  old  woman  too  old 
to  work  with  any  sort  of  satisfaction  to  her- 
self, and  whose  son,  being  a  hard  man,  com- 
17  257 


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J.     .,; 

i 

t    A 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 

pelled  her  to  work  for  his  satisfaction.  So 
she  found  it  convenient  to  become  bedridden, 
thus  shifting  the  responsibility  of  work  to 
younger  shoulders,  and  was  only  able  to  walk 
at  night,  when  undetected  she  would  steal 
forth  and  seat  herself  in  the  devil's  chair  for 
the  comfort  of  a  pipe.  Her  discoverer  prom- 
ised not  to  betray  her,  gave  her  a  new  pipe 
and  a  supply  of  tobacco,  and  it  is  to  be  hoped 
her  hard  son  will  never  read  these  lines,  at 
least  not  until  the  poor  old  soul  has  gone 
where  she  cannot  be  called  forth  to  work  at 
the  bidding  of  any  man. 

We  floundered  slowly  along  through  the 
Melancholy  Way  of  the  Alders,  cheering  each 
other  with  ghost  stories,  and  about  noon  came 
out  of  it,  and  crossed  the  bridge  over  Black 
Brook  ;  of  all  the  streams  we  had  seen  the  most 
forbidding,  fascinating,  and  rock-bound.  It  was 
far,  far  below  us  and  made  its  way  between  mas- 
sive and  broken  walls  of  rock.  Trees  closely 
bordered  the  rocks  above  and  clung  in  the 
crevices,  overleaning  and  shadowing  the  chasm 
below.  Altogether,  it  was  a  sinister-looking 
brook  and  as  black  as  night. 

But  we  had  a  sudden  inner  vision  of  trout 

?58 


kli 


h 


The  Half  Way  House 

P—— ^ll"  !■  ■■  ■■.■—■  I  ■■■  I.  II  i     ■     ■_         —-II—        ■!  I    I    II    ■>■——§ 

in  its  pools  !  Close  to  the  pools  at  one  side 
lay  a  flat  table  of  rock,  where  one  could  stand 
or  sit  at  ease,  if  once  it  could  be  reached.  The 
sun  shone  brightly,  and  it  was  the  wrong  time 
of  day  for  trout,  as  well  as  being  too  late  in  the 
season,  yet  there  was  an  irresistible  fascination 
in  those  black  pools.  If  the  trout  were  not 
there,  where  were  they  ? 

By  clinging  to  the  roots  of  trees  and  pro- 
ceeding with  caution,  we  were  able  to  scale 
the  rocks  and  reach  the  flat  rock  by  the  pools. 
We  congratulated  ourselves  upon  the  posses- 
sion of  worms,  for  they  certainly  v/ere  a  more 
natural  food  for  fish  than  "  flies  "  made  of  all 
sorts  of  indigestible  things,  and  no  doubt  Cape 
Breton  trout  had  not  been  educated  up  to 
"  flies."  So  we  cast  a  worm,  but  it  had  no 
time  to  enter  the  water,  for  even  as  it  touched 
the  surface  it  was  caught  by  a  trout  and  swal- 
lowed, hook  and  all.  With  pride  unspeakable 
we  pulled  him  in,  struggling  so  that  we  trembled 
for  the  rod  and  line,  for  we  knew  not  how 
to  "  land  "  a  fish  other  than  just  to  pull  him 
out  of  the  water  with  as  few  preliminaries  as 
possible. 

We  put  him  in  a  damp  cavern  in  the  rock 

259 


h 


W 


¥' 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 


behind  us,  and  tried  again.  The  result  was 
the  same,  except  that  we  lost  the  fish.  We 
now  knew  that  the  despised  "  fly "  was  the 
scientific  bait  for  this  variety  of  trout,  and  be- 
gan to  long  for  one,  a  multi-coloured  creature 
not  born  from  an  egg,  made  of  strong  things 
that  could  not  be  swallowed  nor  torn  off,  and 
in  whose  care  the  hook  would  not  come  un- 
baited.  In  short,  down  there  on  the  flat  rock 
before  the  trout  pools  of  Black  Brook,  we 
wished  to  be  delivered  from  the  ignominy  of 
angleworms.  The  truth  is,  we  were  fly- 
fishing with  worms,  and  our  newborn  fisher- 
man's pride  rebelled.  As  fast  as  we  threw,  the 
fish  jumped  at  the  hook ;  they  scarcely  seemed 
to  know  whether  it  was  baited  or  not,  and  the 
smallest  remnant  of  worm  answered  as  well  as 
the  plumpest  morsel.  They  were  not  as  large 
as  those  on  the  show  table  in  the  doctor's  tent, 
but  they  were  large  enough  ;  we  could  not  have 
secured  them  had  they  been  any  larger;  we 
could  not  as  it  was,  and  lost  a  great  many 
more  than  we  caught.  It  was  very  stimulating 
down  there  surrounded  by  the  great  rocks, 
with  the  black  water  rushing  swiftly  down- 
stream, and  the  still  pools  lying  in  the  shadow 

260 


?t ,  I . 


The  Half  JFay  House 

-■ 

of  the  rocks,  while  at  every  cast  of  the  line 
the  gorgeous  dark-skinned  trout  with  their 
flashing  jewel-spots  leaped  at  the  hook  and 
either  came  fluttering  wildly  to  our  hand,  or 
to  our  equal  regret  and  pleasure  freed  them- 
selves in  mid-air  and  fell  flashing  back  into 
the  water. 

It  was  long  before  we  could  tear  ourselves 
away  from  the  spot ;  then  we  climbed  the  diffi- 
cult cliff,  and  journeyed  on  to  another  deep- 
down  brook  near  which  was  an  open  grassy 
space  fit  to  camp  in.  Dan  was  given  his  oats, 
and  we  took  the  long  rope  that  had  tied  the 
bag  to  the  back  of  the  waggon  and  let  our  tin 
pail  down  over  the  rail  of  the  bridge  to  the  far- 
away stream  of  sparkling  cold  water.  Such 
water  as  comes  down  these  brooks,  sweet,  cold, 
clear,  full  of  sparkle,  it  seems  almost  living, 
and  seems,  too,  to  give  life  to  him  who  drinks. 
We  took  a  long,  refreshing  draught,  and  then 
prepared  our  meal  of  fresh-caught  trout,  blue- 
berries we  had  ourselves  picked  from  the 
mountains,  and  bear's  meat.  We  were  agree- 
ably disappointed  in  this  meat ;  it  was  delicate 
in  flavour,  and  when  cooked  until  tender,  for  it 
was  somewhat  tough,  was  as  good  as  any  meat. 


!  i 

■'J: 


m 


\\ 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 

Being  tough,  it  was  better  stewed  than  broiled 
and  we  still  think  with  longing  of  the  bear's 
meat  stews  we  concocted  under  the  fir-trees  of 
Cape  Breton  with  the  aid  of  the  sparkling 
brook  water  and  the  red-skinned  potatoes  M. 
bought  each  day  from  a  wayside  cottage. 

While  we  were  preparing  our  Black  Brook 
trout,  along  came  a  Highlander  leading  a  cow, 
and  he  stopped,  full  of  curiosity.  We  showed 
him  our  fish  and  he  said  they  did  very  well, 
that  Black  Brook  was  the  place  for  trout,  but 
that  he  had  caught  one  measuring  twenty-two 
inches.  Then  he  took  the  rod  and  handled  it 
curiously,  particularly  the  reel.  "  This,"  he 
said,  tapping  it,  "  I  suppose  will  be  a  reel.  I 
have  lived  a  good  many  years,  but  I  never  saw 
one  and  never  expected  to ; "  and  he  unwound 
the  line  and  wound  it  up  again.  All  this 
time  the  cow  was  tossing  her  head  and  trying 
to  pull  away,  but  he  clung  to  the  rope  and 
the  rod,  from  time  to  time  requesting  the  cow 
to  "  sh  ! "  At  length  he  and  the  cow  went 
on  their  way,  no  doubt  with  much  food  for 
meditation. 

It  was  as  usual  nearing  the  twilight  hour 
when  we  drew  near  our  destination.     Breaking 

262 


ti 


*  ft  *.*^*..  «-„■  • 


ong^ 

broiled 
e  bear's 
trees  of 
Darkling 
oes  M. 

;  Brook 

T  a  cow, 

showed 

;ry  well, 

out,  but 

;nty-two 

ndled  it 

his,"  he 

reel.     I 

ver  saw 

nwound 

\.ll   this 

trying 

)pe  and 

the  cow 

w  went 

Dod  for 

It  hour 
reaking 


0 
si 


'J 

/: 

u 

3 
0 


ifl 


i 


i 


ti 


m 

ffIT/' 

m 

I 

J^H^H 

-*    ^  1 

ill  ' 

!              J 

; 

.- 

I 


Rl  H 


fffl 

f  ■ 

il 

fi|  1  w 

, 

f  \!    1  1 

i-  '^ 

jfi    ;!    S' 

? '' 

i     '    It' 

«  , 

:.' 

h    'i 

. 


S| 


The  Half  Way  House 


#  '■( 


through  the  woods  at  last,  we  came  upon  the 
Half  Way  House  standing  on  an  open  high 
place. 

The  Half  Way  House  is  just  what  such  a 
refuge  should  be,  warm,  clean,  and  hospitable. 
The  door  opens  into  a  large  kitchen  with  a 
generous  stove  on  one  side  and  a  floor  that 
shines  from  much  scrubbing.  The  McPher- 
sons  keep  the  place  and  have  for  many  a  year, 
though  Mrs.  McPherson  is  still  bonnie  and 
charming. 

Mr.  McPherson  was  away  at  the  time  of  our 
visit,  on  his  yearly  trip  to  Halifax,  to  lay  in 
provisions  for  the  winter,  of  which  forethought 
there  is  certainly  need. 

Besides  Mrs.  McPherson,  a  tall  Highlander 
who  looked  after  Dan's  comfort,  and  a  young 
woman  who  helped  about  the  house,  we  were 
the  only  beings  in  that  distant  and  lonely  spot, 
excepting  a  white  dog  with  a  black  head  and  a 
tortoise-shell  cat  with  a  tortoise-shell  kitten, 
which  she  constantly  licked  and  which  afflicted 
her  motherly  heart  by  frequently  flying  ofl^  to 
an  enclosure  where  the  cows  came  at  night,  and 
racing  around  the  top  rail  out  of  reach  of  the 
maternal  tongue. 

263 


«]«> 


i! 


iir 


m 


j. 


rvl 


Il 


u 


f 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 

The  Half  Way  House  stands  on  the  cleared 
brow  of  a  high  hill  with  somewhat  sombre 
though  rather  pleasing  views  of  denuded  high- 
lands and  interminable  reaches  of  spruce,  fir,  and 
hemlock  on  three  sides ;  while  the  fourth  side, 
toward  which  the  house  faces,  overlooks  the  sea, 
whose  surf  is  heard  pounding  against  the  rocks 
a  mile  away.  Down  there  on  the  rocks  by  the 
sea  can  also  be  seen  one  corner  of  Neils  Har- 
bour. For  here,  in  the  loneliest  and  most 
dangerous  part  of  that  lonely  and  dangerous 
coast,  lies  the  little  settlement  of  English 
people  who  were  the  peculiar  care  of  their 
devoted  friend.  Parson  Gibbons.  For  these 
people  came  from  Newfoundland,  and  are  not, 
like  most  of  the  settlers  of  Cape  Breton,  High- 
land Scotch. 

We  found  the  air  of  this  northern  coast 
splendidly  exhilarating.  Although  it  was  now 
well  along  in  September  and  the  air  was  spark- 
ling with  cold,  particularly  in  the  early  morning, 
we  never  felt  chilly.  Its  effect  was  to  make 
the  blood  flow  faster,  and  there  was  none  of  the 
sense  of  chill  and  depression  one  so  often  feels 
after   driving  for  several    hours    in  the   same 

temperature  in  southern  New  England.     The 

264 


fl 


The  Half  W^ay  House 

air  of  "Cape  North"  is  alone  worth  going 
there  for. 

Mrs.  McPherson  cooked  eggs  and  salt  fish 
and  potatoes  for  our  supper  and  spread  the 
table  in  the  sunny  little  sitting-room  that 
opened  out  of  the  kitchen  and  whose  floor  was 
carpeted  with  many  rugs  of  agreeable  design. 
We  persuaded  her  to  join  us,  and  added  blue- 
berries, apples,  and  coffee  from  our  stores. 

Mrs.  McPherson  gave  us  our  first  lesson  in 
Gaelic,  and  from  her  we  learned  to  say  "  good- 
night" and  to  ask  for  bread,  milk,  potatoes,  and 
oats  in  that  unmusical  tongue. 

She  also  initiated  us  into  the  mysteries  of  rug- 
making,  and  told  us  how  dogwood  bark  makes 
a  gray  colouring ;  "  crackle,"  which  is,  as  far  as 
we  could  make  out,  a  kind  of  moss,  yields 
brown ;  while  hemlock  also  makes  a  pretty 
shade  of  brown ;  and  a  weed  which  we  could 
not  make  out  at  all  from  her  description  yields 
a  yellow  dye.  We  were  glad  to  know  these 
things,  and  to  examine  the  charming  rugs  on 
the  floor,  made  from  old  rags  dyed  so  pleas- 
antly by  the  juices  of  the  grim  forest,  and  to 
learn  the  individual  history  of  each  one. 

In  the  evening  came  a  crowd  of  berry-pickers 

265 


I 

i',' 


'I 


jr 


m 


\i 


'1 . 


^1 


f  I 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 

with  full  buckets.  They  were  young  men  and 
girls  who  had  been  out  on  the  mountains  to 
the  blueberry  barrens  which  are  famous  about 
here.  It  seemed  to  be  a  sort  of  annual  picnic 
which  lasted  two  or  three  days,  they  coming  at 
sunset  to  the  Half  Way  House  and  at  sunrise 
going  forth  to  the  mountains. 

They  took  supper  at  a  long  table  in  the 
kitchen,  and  we  were  sorry  to  see  they  did 
not  fare  as  well  as  we,  for  they  had  only  the 
never-failing  tea  and  toast,  rather  an  insufficient 
meal,  one  should  think,  after  a  long  c.^  on  the 
mountains.  But  the  bread  at  the  Half  Way 
House  is  at  least  not  sour,  and  tea  and  toast  is 
the  fare  to  which  they  are  accustomed,  and 
which  they  would  have  had  in  their  own  homes 
no  matter  how  hard  the  labour  of  the  day. 

The  berry-pickers  talked  Gaelic  at  table, 
and  after  tea  the  girls  kept  silent  or  whispered 
to  one  another,  while  the  men  smoked  their 
pipes  and  talked  to  one  another  —  always  in 
Gaelic.  As  they  sat  ranged  along  the  sides  of 
the  kitchen  on  benches  and  chairs,  they  strongly 
recalled  the  poor  whites  or  "  Crackers  "  of  the 
far  South.     They  had  the  same  starved-looking 

bodies,  and    no  doubt  opposite   severities    of 

266 


W 


The  Half  Way  House 

climate  and  the  same  lack  of  proper  nourish- 
ment had  produced  the  same  result.  They 
went  to  bed  in  the  attic,  where  the  men  slept 
on  the  floor,  but  the  girls  stowed  themselves 
in  a  small  room  wherein  was  a  wide  bed. 

Early  in  the  morning  we  were  wakened  by 
the  berry-pickers  getting  up.  We  wished  we 
could  understand  their  speech  and  know  what 
it  was  they  talked  to  one  another  about.  What 
is  there  to  talk  about,  we  should  like  to  know, 
where  there  is  no  daily  paper,  no  fashions,  no 
new  books,  nor  opera  ?  How  can  they  even 
get  material  enough  to  make  gossip  about 
their  neighbours  ? 

The  road  to  Neils  Harbour  is  stony  and 
downhill  and  there  is  not  much  to  be  seen 
from  it.  One  of  Cape  North's  never-failing 
brooks  breaks  through  the  mountains  and 
tumbles  into  the  harbour  along  the  course  of 
the  road,  though  it  is  for  the  most  part  con- 
cealed by  intervening  vegetation.  The  harbour 
is  but  a  little  cove  jutting  into  the  land  and 
making  a  summer  haven  for  the  fishing-fleet, 
but  in  winter  it  is  packed  full  of  ice,  as  is  every 
cranny  of  this  northern  coast.     It  was  over  the 

ice  of  this  harbour  and  around  the  ice  of  the 

267 


ij 


I  u 


.*:-, 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 

cruel  shore  from  Ingonish  to  the  harbour  that 
Parson  Gibbons  crept  on  hands  and  knees  when 
the  road  was  totally  impassable,  one  memorable 
Christmas  day  of  long  ago,  and  all  to  bring  the 
cheer  of  his  presence  to  the  fisher-folk  of 
Neils  Harbour.  Perhaps  he  feared  that  unless 
the  Christmas-tide  could  light  up  the  world 
for  them  a  little,  they  would  not  have  cour- 
age to  live  through  the  winter,  and  one  won- 
ders how  they  do  manage  it.  It  is  so  remote 
and  forbidding  in  summer  that  one  shudders 
to  imagine  what  it  must  be  through  the  long 
icy  winter. 

Yet  it  is,  perhaps,  the  most  picturesque 
settlement  on  the  whole  coast.  There  is  a 
narrow  space  of  lowland  near  the  water,  with  a 
hill  rising  sharply  behind  it. 

A  point  of  land  ending  in  a  bluff  on  the  sea- 
side holds  back  the  waves  and  forms  a  cove 
suited  to  the  needs  of  the  fishing-boats ;  and 
around  the  shore  of  this  cove  is  a  picturesque 
jumble  of  low  fish-huts,  flakes,  boats  in  all 
stages  of  decomposition  as  well  as  those  in  full 
vigour  of  usefulness,  tar,  chains,  evidences  of 
fish  everywhere.     The  high  grass-grown  bluff 

that  abuts  out  into  the  water  beyond  all  this,  is 

268 


f 


The  Half  Way  House 

^ ,,  — ■  ■—  ..■■■  —  „ 

covered  as  well  by  many  rows  offtakes,  and  from 
it  a  fine  view  of  the  wild  coast  is  obtainable. 

The  dwelling-houses  of  Neils  Harbour  were 
miserable  shanties,  many  of  them  more  like 
temporary  shelters  than  permanent  homes. 
Most  of  them  stood  on  the  hillside,  and  the 
upper  ones  were  reached  by  a  path  through  the 
dooryards  of  those  lower  down.  Poor  and 
mean  as  they  were  outside,  they  were  yet  worse 
inside.  The  rooms  were  painfully  bare,  even 
the  hitherto  never-failing  rugs  being  absent  in 
most  of  them.  Compared  to  them,  the  simple 
cottages  of  the  Highlanders  seemed  abodes  of 
luxury.  The  people  are  so  desperately  poor 
because  there  is  no  farming  land  at  all,  and 
there  is  no  work  obtainable  but  the  very  un- 
certain labour  of  fishing  in  the  sea.  They  get 
very  little  for  the  fish  they  catch,  not  even  as 
much  as  they  are  worth,  we  were  told;  for 
here,  as  elsewhere  in  remote  country  places, 
the  wealth  of  the  people  flows  into  the  coffers 
of  the  local  storekeeper.  He  sets  his  own 
price  on  what  they  bring  him  and  too  fre- 
quently pays  in  merchandise  of  his  own  im- 
portation, so  that  often   the   poor  fisher-folk 

receive  no  money  at  all  for  their  labour. 

269 


% 


% 


'I 


f        ! 


f-       f 


li  ii 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 

The  "wood  for  firing"  in  this  bleak  camp 
is  brought  from  the  mountains  on  sledges 
drawn  by  dogs. 

It  was  a  lowering  day,  with  clouds  settling 
and  a  cold  wind  blowing,  when  we  visited  Neils 
Harbour,  and  no  doubt  this  is  its  characteristic 
and  predominating  aspect. 

The  coast  is  frightful  to  look  upon,  with  its 
breastwork  of  sea-worn  rock.  We  had  not 
known  how  cruel  a  rock-bound  coast  could  be 
until  we  saw  those  sinister  and  threatening 
forms.  A  vessel  forced  near  shore  by  stress 
of  weather  would  be  broken  like  a  toy.  Al- 
most within  hand-reach  of  the  land  men's  lives 
have  been  dashed  out  and  no  aid  possible. 

On  this  wild  and  sullen  coast,  on  a  great 
rock  looking  over  the  leaden  sea  to  the  north, 
we  suddenly  came  upon  Mr.  Gibbons's  little 
brown  church  standing  there,  an  invitation  and 
a  promise.  Following  the  track  that  went  past 
the  church,  the  road  came  down  so  close  to 
the  frightful  rocks  that  we  were  almost  upon 
them. 

Beyond  Neils  Harbour  there  is  an  almost 

impassable  road  to  New  Haven  farther  along 

the  coast.     We  did  not  attempt  to  go  there,  as 

270 


long 

ak  camp 
.   sledges 

s  settling 
ted  Neils 
racteristic 

1,  with  its 
:  had  not 
:  could  be 
lireatening 
by  stress 
toy.     Al- 
iens lives 
ssible. 
)n  a  great 
the  north, 
ons's  little 
itation  and 
t  went  past 
o  close  to 
most  upon 

an  almost 

ther  along 

leo  there,  as 


The  Half  Way  House 

we  could  see  the  place  from  where  we  were,  -— 
a  few  houses  scattered  on  the  shore  that  sug- 
gested anything  but  a  haven. 

It  must  be  a  cold  and  dangerous  port  for 
the  poor  mariners  of  life  who  have  found  their 
way  there.  Its  pitiful  old  name  of  Hungry 
Cove  no  doubt  better  expresses  the  facts  of 
life  there  than  the  better-sounding  New 
Haven. 

But  the  people  here,  in  spite  of  their  fright- 
ful poverty,  have  a  frank  and  pleasant  manner 
very  different  from  the  impenetrable  and  silent 
demeanour  of  the  Scotch.  We  met  a  little  boy 
and  girl  gathering  bits  of  wood  by  the  roadside, 
pretty,  fragile  creatures  ;  and  when  we  spoke  to 
them  they  answered  promptly  and  intelligently, 
and  with  a  pretty  eagerness  to  tell  us  what  we 
wanted  to  know. 

We  spoke  to  the  people  we  met,  and  it  was 
pathetic  as  well  as  beautiful  to  see  the  worn 
faces  lighten  at  the  messages  we  bore  from 
their  beloved  pastor. 

One  woman,  upon  hearing  we  had  recently 

seen    Mr.  Gibbons,  came   running   from    her 

house  with  the  tears   raining  down  her   face, 

blessing  him  at  every  step  and  begging  us  to 

271 


\ 


\ih- 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 

tell  him  that  her  husband  had  finally  become 
totally  blind.  She  was  not  begging  for  sym- 
pathy nor  asking  for  alms.  All  she  wanted 
was  to  speak  to  us  and  receive  a  sympathetic 
touch  of  the  hand.  These  people,  seeing  no 
one,  expect  nothing  but  the  inexorable  working 
out  of  thei.  lives  by  such  means  as  lie  about 
them.  We  found  that  this  woman  and  her 
husband  had  only  what  she  could  earn  by  the 
labour  of  her  hands,  and  what  that  was  can  be 
imagined  when  one  considers  the  impossibility 
of  getting  a  living  here  even  by  the  hard  work 
of  men's  hands.  We  astonished  her  by  a  gift 
which  though  small  must  have  seemed  to  her 
like  succour  dropped  from  the  skies,  and  we 
went  back  to  the  Half  Way  House  filled  with 
a  sense  of  the  misery  and  courage  of  the  people 
of  Neils  Harbour.  We  had  there  seen  more 
smiles,  more  cheerfulness  and  cordiality,  than 
anywhere  else  in  our  journey  through  Cape 
North. 

It  is  a  question  of  race  temperament,  and 
the  subject  is  a  very  wonderful  one  when  one 
stops  to  consider  it. 


373 


I 


XVIII 
ASPY   BAY 

THE  road  to  the  north  of  the  Half 
Way  House  continues  through  the 
wilderness.  We  found  it  very  rough, 
and  there  were  no  views  to  beguile 
the  way  other  than  endless  woods  of  evergreens 
spread  over  the  mountains,  dismal  swamps, 
and  stony  hills  where  ruts  were  deep  and 
pitch  holes  were  many. 

In  this  wilderness  we  passed  two  men  in  a 
waggon.  They  drew  into  the  bushes  to  give 
us  way,  and  we  saw  in  their  faces  a  desire  to 
ask  us  our  names,  where  we  came  from,  and 
where  we  were  going,  so  we  stopped  and  an- 
swered. One  of  the  men  then  forced  upon 
our  acceptance  three  or  four  small  and  very 
hard  apples  of  which  he  was  proud,  because 
they  came  from  his  own  tree. 

In  the  midst  of  this  frightful  wilderness  we 
found  a  French  settlement  of  three  or  four 
houses. 

Why  it  was  there  among  dead  trees,  let  who 
can,  answer.     The  miserable  shanties  and  their 
'^  273 


3 


1 

i! 

II 

I'M 

In  >i 

II H 

y 

i 

1  i 

1 

I 

n  '« 

jji' 

it 

•.i  '* 

*■ 

Down  North  and  Up  Along 

surroundings  were  squalid  and  unsightly,  with- 
out a  touch  of  picturesqueness.  We  found  a 
woman  there,  a  gaunt  woman  who  talked  her 
French  patois  with  the  vivacity  of  her  race. 
She  was  the  mother  of  little  children,  one  ^ 
young  babe.  It  certainly  looked  as  if  the 
family  would  have  to  subsist  upon  stones 
during  the  winter.  And  yet  she  talked  with 
vivacity.     That  is  what  it  is  to  be  French. 

These  people,  we  learned  later,  were  descend- 
ants of  the  Acadians.  They  themselves  did 
not  know  it,  nor  how  they  came  to  be  among 
English-speaking  people.  They  had  lost  all 
tradition  of  themselves.  They  only  knew  that 
they  had  just  come  from  islands  in  the  north, 
where  life  was  too  hard  even  for  them,  be- 
cause there  was  no  wood  there. 

As  we  went  on,  it  looked  as  though  all  the 
beauty  had  been  left  behind.  Ahead  of  us  lay 
a  straight  blue  wall,  of  which  we  at  times 
caught  glimpses.  It  appeared  to  cut  off  the 
way  to  the  north ;  it  rose  up  ever  and  anon 
menacing  and  mysterious.  Did  we  pass  be- 
yond it }  And  what  then  ?  What  was  there 
to  be  seen  in  this  unpeopled  and  ever  increas- 
ingly dreary  wilderness? 

274 


i\ 


stones 
1  with 
li. 

scend- 
es  did 
among 
ost  all 
;w  that 
north, 
m,  be- 
all  the 
us  lay 
times 
bff  the 
anon 
ss  be- 
there 
creas- 


Aspy  Bay 

As  on  the  road  to  the  Half  Way  House,  we 
travelled  miles  without  seeing  a  human  habi- 
tation. But  finally  there  came  a  change. 
Barley  fields  and  patches  of  oats  began  to 
appear.  Houses  stood  discreetly  back  from 
the  road  with  intervening  meadow  before  the 
doors.  The  flat  wall  ahead  broke  up,  and  we 
now  and  again  caught  glimpses  of  a  fairy  world 
that  astonished  and  delighted  us.  Mr.  Gib- 
bons had  assured  us  that  the  farther  north  we 
went,  the  finer  would  be  the  scenery,  but  the 
long  and  dreary  way  from  Ingonish  had  dimmed 
our  hope  a  little. 

Meadows  appeared  now  at  the  right  and 
now  at  the  left ;  there  came  a  gleam  of  blue 
water  and  a  pretty  lake  spread  out  below 
us.  Two  or  three  houses  stood  near  the 
lake,  but  we  could  discover  no  track  that  led 
to  them. 

In  our  turnings  there  came  repeatedly  the 
most  bewitching  glimpses  of  mountains,  loftier 
than  those  of  Ingonish,  and  about  them  were 
driving  wraiths  of  mist,  that  filled  the  hollows 
and  half  obscured  the  projecting  masses. 

We  crossed  streams  bordered  by  cultivated 
fields,  and  the  trees  began  to  look  home-like, 

275 


n 


I 


/)i 


I     : 


, 


I  - 


ilH  i 


I 


MMMl 


Down  North  and  Up  ylloft[r 

ii\rtpIcH  anil  ImicIics  ftcqucntly  rtppcai-ing.  We 
skittcil  a  valley  that  once  hail  been  a  water- 
course ;  a  torrent  had  Rwcpt  down  it  and  left 
l>chind  a  plain  story  of  its  existence.  Out  of 
the  middle  of  the  valley  rose  an  island,  tree- 
covered  and  with  precipitous  cliffs  of  white 
pypsum,  worn  into  queer-shaped  towers  and 
hutttx^sses.  Over  our  road  also  loomed  ghostly 
and  threatening  forms  of  gypsum,  under  which 
we  were  half  afraid  to  pass,  they  looked  so 
ready  to  topple  on  oui*  heads.  And  tlicn  we 
came  fairly  upon  the  charmifig  valley  of  Aspy 
Bay.  It  was  like  joy  after  sorrow  to  come 
out  of  the  sotnbre  fir-Hllcd  wilderness  into  this 
blooming  valley,  through  which  flowed  a  broad 
and  beautiful  river.  There  were  elm -trees 
singly,  and  in  groups,  with  the  sun  behind 
them  shining  out  of  a  misty  atmosphere  that 
made  the  trees  look  half  unreal,  as  though 
they  were  a  product  of  the  light. 

Mountains  rose  from  across  the  valley  in 
beautiful  slopes,  clad  to  the  sununit  with  trees, 
excepting  where  here  and  there  a  bare  flank 
swept  up  covered  only  with  low,  bright-leaved 
shrubs.  They  were  mountains  with  purple 
shadows  in  their  hollows,  their  slopes  blue  and 

276 


^spy  Bay 

a>  ...,.1  ■  ■■..■■■■  ■«■■  ..— .-I.— .,  ■ — ■■■.— ^ .— -— - -..„-— .oiiwi  mmi^miaiiimmtimmm'Mmmmmm^mmmma 

green,  with  rjiinbuv/  colours  in  the  niisf  filled 
openings  between  them, —  mountains  that  rose 
from  the  level  plain,  like  vast  and  lovely 
spirits. 

Ab  Smoky  excels  in  magnitude  the  moun- 
tains of  iMiglishtown,  so  do  the  mour.tains  f)f 
Aspy  Hay  excel  Smoky,  yet  they  are  l)cautifwl 
rather  than  grand.  More  than  one  lovely 
slope  was  painted  with  prismatic  colours,  the 
varying  shades  of  red  rock  being  blended  with 
cx(piiaitc  tones  of  green,  yellow,  and  blue, 
while  seaward  a  warm  rose  tint,  a  sweet  alpine 
glow,  lay  along  some  of  the  slopes. 

The  valley  was  in  a  state  of  high  cultivation, 
and  hidden  behind  clumps  of  trees  were  the 
scattered  farmhouses.  Evidently  peace  and 
plenty  reigned  here,  a  lovely  oasis  in  a  great 
wilderness.  The  houses  were  roomy  and  well 
built,  and  everything  about  them  betokened 
prosperity.  Wc  stopped  on  the  bridge  that 
crossed  the  river,  surprised  and  pleased,  and 
looked  and  looked  again. 

Mountains  and  valley  were  before  us,  while 
off  to  the  right  shone  the  blue  bay  from  which 
the  place  gets  its  name.  It  was  as  usual  toward 
night  as  we  thus  drew  near  our  stopping-place, 

877 


I 

I 

f  5i 


^'i\ 


'MA 


m 


u 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 

and  an  Indian  summer  haze  intensified  the 
beauty  of  the  waning  day. 

As  we  got  closer,  the  mountains,  without 
losing  their  marvellous  colouring,  became  more 
distinctly  individual,  those  behind  being  joined 
to  those  in  front  only  by  their  long  overlap- 
ping slopes  and  the  colour-filled  spaces  between. 

We  were  happy  thus  to  find  our  blue  bar- 
rier resolved  into  endless  forms  of  beauty, 
mountain  lying  beyond  mountain,  while  here 
and  there  a  glen  opened  to  let  out  a  foaming 
brook  and  make  windows  through  which  we 
caught  glimpses  of  exquisitely  lovely  moun- 
tain forms  beyond. 

We  were  on  our  way  to  Zwicker*s,  and  in 
the  estimation  of  the  people  of  Cape  North  he 
who  does  not  know  Zwicker's  does  not  know 
much. 

"  You  will  know  it,"  the  people  told  us  ;  "  it 
will  be  the  big  house."  And  so  we  did  know 
it  when  at  last  we  got  there. 

It  stands  near  the  road  in  a  friendly  fashion, 
and  is  half  house,  half  store,  the  store  occupy- 
ing one  wing  of  the  building. 

But  inside  the  house  is  quite  distinct  from 
the  store,  of  whose  proximity  there  is  no  sign. 

278 


long 

[fied   the 


without 
me  more 
ig  joined 
overlap- 
between. 
)lue  bar- 
beauty, 
hile  here 
foaming 
vhich  we 
y  moun- 

s,  and  In 
^orth  he 
lot  know 


us ;  "  it 
lid  know 


fashion, 
occupy- 


o 
o 


o 
m 

> 

u 


let  from 
lo  sign. 


jr'f  .-jr- 


ifpfti 


•  f  i 


5     ! 


i       (■ 


tip 


11 

III 

- 

hs  " 

! 

1    ■ 

A  spy  Bay 


Zwicker's,  or  "  Zwigger's,"  as  the  people  call 
it  from  Baddeck  to  Bay  St.  Lawrence,  was  a 
surprise  to  us  in  more  ways  than  one.  It  was 
kept  by  two  brothers,  gentlemen  by  nature 
and  education.  There  were  signs  of  foreign 
travel  and  new  books  and  recent  issues  of  the 
"  American  "  magazines  were  lying  about.  The 
house  was  not  only  roomy  and  comfortable, 
very  neat  and  well  furnished,  but  afforded 
luxuries  not  before  enjoyed  by  us  in  Nova 
Scotia. 

There  was  an  agreeable  atmosphere  about 
the  place,  as  of  people  who  were  accustomed  to 
the  rational  pleasures  of  life. 

In  the  dining-room  was  a  telegraphic  instru- 
ment whose  clickety-click  reminded  us  of  the 
world  to  which  we  belonged  and  of  the  mar. 
vels  achieved  by  man  in  that  world. 

What  a  moment  that  must  have  been  in 
Aspy  Bay  when  the  first  transatlantic  message 
was  received  !  When  the  whole  civilised  world 
held  its  breath  to  hear  the  momentous  word 
that,  spoken  in  one  continent,  should  leap  to 
another,  vanquishing  time  and  space,  and  in  that 
*fi^»^phant  hour  proclaim  the  conquest  of 
civilisation  over  barbarism,  the  death  of  war, 

279 


^v\S 


11  ■. 


lit  >' 


11  I ,  ;.,. 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 

^1    ■■!     I  ■       -'  -■■,.—     I—  I  II  Ml. ■--,-,  „■  — — .  < 

and  the  birth  of  universal  peace  upon  earth. 
It  takes  war  a  long  time  to  die  and  universal 
peace  a  long  time  to  get  out  of  its  swaddling 
clothes,  but  these  things  will  surely  come  to 
pass.  The  submarine  cable  and  war  cannot 
live  together  on  the  same  planet. 

We  were  unexpected  guests  at  Zwicker*s ; 
and  such  an  event  as  our  arrival  must  have 
occasioned  the  greatest  astonishment,  if  not 
absolute  consternation,  to  the  two  men  whom 
fate,  by  taking  away  the  mother,  had  left  to 
continue  the  home  as  best  they  could.  But  we 
were  received  with  such  courtesy,  and  enter- 
tained with  such  skilful  hospitality,  that  we 
did  not  know,  until  after  we  had  left,  that  the 
brothers  constituted  the  whole  household. 

The  history  of  Aspy  Bay  dates  as  far  back 
as  that  of  Englishtown  and  Ingonish,  —  at  least 
in  those  days  it  had  a  name,  the  same  it  bears 
to-day ;  and  the  French  voyager  Pinchon  speaks 
also  of  this  place,  for  he  did  not  stop  his  trav- 
els until  he  had  gone  the  whole  length  of  the 
coast. 

"  Leaving  Niganiche,  we  came  to  the  creek 
of  Owarachouque,"  —  which  creek  was  that,  we 
should  like  to  know,  the  creek  at  Neils  Har- 

280 


m 


long 

>n  earth, 
universal 
waddling 
come  to 
r  cannot 

wicker's ; 
List   have 
t,  if  not 
;n  whom 
d  left  to 
But  we 
id  enter- 
that  we 
that  the 
old. 

far  back 
—  at  least 
I  it  bears 
)n  speaks 
his  trav- 
:h  of  the 

16  creek 
that,  we 
ils  Har- 


Aspy  Bay 

hour  or  our  Black  Brook  perchance?  —  "and 
from  thence  successively  to  the  harbour  of 
Aspe,  Cape  North,  the  creek  of  St.  Lawrence, 
and  the  cape  of  the  same  name.  Cape  North, 
or  the  mountain  which  forms  it,  is  a  peninsula 
joining  to  th*^  island  of  Cape  Breton  by  a  very 
low  neck  of  land.  But  none  of  these  places 
are  inhabited,  or  hardly  at  all  frequented." 

So  much  for  "  Aspe  "  prior  to  1760;  and  in 
truth  it  is  not  very  densely  inhabited  yet,  nor 
is  it  frequented  to  the  extent  its  lagoons  run- 
ning into  the  land  from  the  sea  and  its  soulful 
mountains  deserve. 

In  the  early  part  of  the  century  the  evicted 
Scotch  peasants  seeking  homes  found  the 
lovely  and  fertile  valley,  and  the  flourishing 
appearance  of  the  settlement  is  testimonial 
enough  to  the  character  of  the  land,  for  where 
the  land  is  good  the  people  are  always  well- 
to-do  and  happy,  if  other  people  who  do  not 
draw  the  furrow  or  wield  the  sickle  will  let 
them  alone. 

There  is  a  delightful  lounging-place  on  the 
water's  edge  a  field  or  two  from  Zwicker's,  a 
warm  grassy  bluff  where  one  can  lie  in  the 
sunshine  with  the  same  rat-tatting  grasshoppers 

aSi 


H 


I  ,/ 


1(1 


Pffi* 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 

scurrying  about  in  the  same  panic-stricken 
haste  that  gave  us  such  bootless  chase  on 
Beaman's  Mountain,  and  watch  the  changing 
light  on  the  mountains  or  on  the  blue  bay. 

Over  the  bay,  among  the  little  islands,  boats 
with  brown  sails  were  gliding  about,  for  the 
people  here  dye,  or,  as  they  say,  tan,  their  sails 
to  make  them  last  longer,  and  these  brown- 
sailed  boats  add  much  to  the  charm  of  the 
picture. 

Aspy  Bay,  like  the  Bay  of  St.  Anne,  is  almost 
shut  up  by  a  long  cobblestone  bar ;  and  a  reef 
of  cobblestones  at  our  left,  as  we  sat  facing  the 
sea,  was  thickly  grown  with  the  Mertensia  Mari- 
tima,  now  in  full  bloom.  It  was  a  comfort  to 
see  this  and  know  that  we  had  not  really  been 
guilty  of  pulling  up  the  very  last  one  in  "  Cape 
North "  when  we  so  shamefully  exterminated 
the  pretty  thing  on  Englishtown's  pebbly  bar. 

How  long  the  Mertensia  Maritima  will  be 
left  to  adorn  the  cobblestone  bar  of  Aspy  Bay 
is  a  question,  for  the  Newfoundland  steamer 
calls  here,  and  it  is  easy  to  step  aboard  at  Halifax 
and  come  straight  to  this  beautiful  and  health- 
ful spot,  sure  of  a  safe  landing  and  a  courteous 
reception  away  down   north.     And  some  day 

282 


^t::  U'j 


-stricken 
hase  on 
:hanging 
bay. 

ds,  boats 
for  the 
heir  sails 
:  brown- 
i  of  the 

is  almost 

id  a  reef 

acing  the 

sia  Mari- 

mfort  to 

Uy  been 

n  "  Cape 

Irminated 

bly  bar. 

will  be 

spy  Bay 

steamer 

Halifax 

health- 

urteous 

me  day 


A  Spy  Bay 

the  work-weary  and  nature-hangry  souls  from 
the  cities  are  going  to  find  out  these  things ; 
and  then,  Mertensia  Maritima,  you  may  say 
good-bye  to  your  cobblestone  bar.  For  these 
new-comers  will  love  you,  and  will  pull  you  up 
by  the  roots,  and  in  a  little  while  will  throw 
you  away,  and  that  will  be  the  end  of  you. 

We  left  Zwicker's  and  faced  again  "  down 
north,"  but  this  was  the  end,  —  one  more  day 
of  delightful  lingering  along  the  wayside,  enjoy- 
ing sea  and  mountain,  coming  upon  new  and 
unexpected  beauties  of  land  and  sea,  and  all 
would  be  known.  There  would  be  no  more 
mystery,  no  more  wondering  "  what  next,"  for 
we  should  come  to  Bay  St.  Lawrence  and  that 
was  the  end. 

For  some  distance  beyond  Zwicker's  the 
mountains  are  on  one  side  of  the  road  and  the 
sea  on  the  other;  and  when  there  is  no  wind 
the  mountains  can  be  seen  inverted  on  the 
water,  where  they  are  almost  more  lovely  than 
standing  in  the  air. 

We  passed  close  to  Sugar  Loaf,  the  high- 
est mountain  of  all,  and  were  tempted.  The 
top  looked  so  near  and  so  inviting !  But  we 
knew  that  it  was  not  near  and  that  we  could 

283 


"CM 


-^ 


i 


i  I 


'  i  r 


v.! 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 

not  get  to  it  without  first  getting  badly  lost, 
for  these  mountains  of  beauty  are  very  stern 
realities  when  one  attempts  to  ascend  them,  and 
guides  are  necessary. 

It  is  a  short  stage  to  Bay  St.  Lawrence,  and 
we  did  not  start  very  early  nor  yet  hurry  on 
the  road. 

From  Baddeck  to  Zwicker's  is  a  distance  of 
one  hundred  and  one  miles  by  the  road,  we 
were  pleased  to  learn.  The  guide-books  make 
the  distance  much  shorter,  but  the  guide- 
books are  wrong.  Any  one  who  has  travelled 
the  road  will  know  that  it  is  no  less  than  one 
hundred  and  one  miles. 

The  distance  from  Zwicker's  to  Bay  St.  Law- 
rence is  only  from  five  to  eight  miles,  accord- 
ing to  the  part  of  Bay  St.  Lawrence  to  which 
one  goes.  We  went  eight  miles,  that  is,  as  far 
as  it  is  possible  for  mortal  man  to  go  in  a 
waggon. 

After  Sugar  Loaf  is  passed,  the  road  turns 
away  from  the  sea  and  passes  in  back  of  the 
mountains.  As  soon  as  one  gets  behind  the 
mountains,  the  scenery  is  dreary  and  consists  of 
stretches  of  fir  and  spruce  trees  broken  only  by 
rushing  streams  and  an  occasional  valley,  where 

284 


tl: 


dly  lost, 
ry  stern 
lem,  and 

;nce,  and 
lurry  on 

stance  of 
road,  we 

)ks  make 

e  guide- 
travelled 

than  one 

/  St.  Law- 
s,  accord- 
to  which 
is,  as  far 
go  in  a 

lad  turns 

Ick  of  the 

ihind  the 

insists  of 

only  by 

ley,  where 


A  Spy  Bay 

somebody  has  undertaken  the  cultivation  of 
barley  and  potatoes. 

The  way  became  so  desolate  and  dreary  for 
a  space  that  we  began  as  usual  to  despair  of 
anything  beyond.  The  only  birds  willing  to 
stay  in  this  wilderness  were  the  juncos ;  and  why 
they  should  go  for  ever  flitting  down  north 
toward  the  icy  sea,  it  is  probable  none  but  a 
junco  can  explain. 

Where  there  are  cone-bearing  trees,  there  will 
be  squirrel  folk.  Where  bird-notes  are  lack- 
ing, the  song  of  the  squirrel  comes  not  amiss. 
Indeed,  it  is  pleasant  even  where  there  are  birds, 
and  one  hearing  it  for  the  first  time  may  well 
be  excused  for  mistaking  the  varied  and  ex- 
pressive solo  for  the  song  of  some  member  of 
the  feathered  tribe.  It  usually  begins  as  if  the 
performer  had  been  seized  with  a  violent  and 
uncontrollable  ague  that  caused  his  teeth  to 
chatter  fast  and  furious.  Chatter,  chatter, 
faster,  faster,  until  the  sounds  run  together 
and  make  a  pleasant  musical  note,  the  pitch 
of  which  the  performer  varies  apparently  at 
will  and  to  give  meaning  to  his  song.  He 
sings  with  such  abandon  and  such  long-sus- 
tained effort  that  he  ought  to  drop  panting  at 

285 


A 


* 


4 1 


r 


H 


»• 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 

your  feet  when  he  finishes  with  a  dozen  staccato 
barks.  But  not  he.  W*^'le  you  are  pitying 
his  condition,  he  is  cooL  .ropping  scales  on 
your  head  from  a  fir  cone  which  he  is  cutting 
up  with  as  much  energy  as  if  he  had  not  sung 
a  note  within  the  memory  of  man.  He  is  good 
company  in  the  woods,  as  he  never  fails  to  as- 
sault you  with  a  torrent  of  squirrel  back  talk, 
which  is  a  great  deal  better  than  no  talk,  and 
then  he  will  very  likely  make  amends  by  sing- 
ing to  you,  though,  truth  to  tell,  you  never  feel 
quite  sure  whether  his  '  ^markable  and  very 
energetic  song  would  be  ranslating  to  polite 
ears. 

Our  fears  for  what  was  to  come  as  we  moved 
over  the  last  stage  of  our  journey  turned  out 
as  they  always  did.  The  dreary  behind-the- 
mountain  road  suddenly  brought  us  into  a  new 
world;  and  as  had  happened  each  time  before, 
as  soon  as  the  view  burst  upon  us,  we  were 
tempted  to  exclaim,  "  This,  then,  is  better  than 
all  the  rest." 


m 


286 


4  long 

— -— 

en  staccato 
ire  pitying 
r  scales  on 
;  is  cutting 
d  not  sung 
He  is  good 
fails  to  as- 
back  talk, 
3  talk,  and 
ds  by  sing- 
1  never  feel 
;  and  very 
ig  to  polite 

5  we  moved 
turned  out 
behind-the- 
j  into  a  new 
time  before, 
as,  we  were 
,  better  than 


XIX 
CAPE     NORTH 

BAY  ST.   LAWRENCE  is   different 
from  all  the  rest.     It  is  the  Ultima 
Ihule,  the    end  of  everything,  the 
place  where  the  land  comes  to  a  sud- 
den stop  as  though  saying  to  the  sea, "  You  have 
conquered,  I  can  push  against  you  no  farther ; 
but  see  what  a  battlement  I   have  reared   to 

vkals^' '''  ^"'^  ^'"^  ^°"  ^"'^  ^'""^  "^y  '°^^y 
Whe.    one  gels  to  Bay  St.  Lawrence  he  can 
no  longer  pursue  his  devious,  half-fearful,  but 
wholly  fascmating  course   « down  north,"  for 
as  he  stands  on  the  high  bluff  and  looks  over 
the  pitiless  northern  sea,  he  knows  that  at  last 
he   ts      down    north,"    that  the   half-dreaded 
mountams  and  swamps  have  been  passed,  that 
for  days  and  days  he  has  been  a  tramp,  a  gypsy, 
eatmg  by  the  roadside  and  drinking  from  way- 
side streams,  begging  hospitality -- to  be  well 
paid  for-  from  the  people  along  the  road  and 
revellmg  as  he  always  dreamed  of,  but  never 

287 


I 


\ 


'.     ! 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 

expected  to  revel,  in  the  free  outdoor  life  of 
an  untamed  and  beau^^'^l  land. 

One  can  have  all  the  delights  and  discom- 
forts of  pioneer  life  in  Cape  North  with  none 
of  its  dangers. 

Bay  St.  Lawrence  is  scooped  out  of  the  stony- 
land  between  stone  mountains  that  guard  it  to 
east  and  west.  But  the  settlement  near  the 
shore  is  also  called  Bay  St.  Lawrence  and  is 
surrounded  on  three  sides  by  the  mountains 
and  on  the  fourth  by  the  sea.  It  is  on  a 
plateau  of  exquisitely  rolling  swells,  for  the 
most  part  grown  over  by  soft  tawny-white 
grass  and  spacious  enough  to  give  the  effect 
of  downs.  It  is  a  clean  grassy  amphitheatre 
shut  from  the  world  by  mountains  and  sea. 

Close  against  the  mountains  that  shut  it 
from  the  eastern  sea  is  McDougal's  Cove, 
where  are  only  three  or  four  houses  all  sur- 
rounded by  broad  meadows,  through  which  we 
could  find  no  road  but  only  waggon  tracks 
going  in  all  directions  as  if  intending  to  lead 
the  stranger  astray  and  land  him  on  the  bank 
of  the  bridgeless  brook  that  gurgles  through 
these  puzzling  meadows. 

In     approaching     McDov.gaFs     Cove     we 

388 


Cape  North 


crossed  a  gully  in  the  land,  a  deep  cut,  along 
the  bottom  of  which  flowed  a  tiny  brook,  at 
one  time  no  doubt  quite  a  masterful  torrent ; 
but  its  days  of  rampage  were  over,  —  it  had 
waxed  old,  thin,  and  feeble,  and  the  deep  hole 
it  had  cut  now  formed  the  cosey  hiding-place 
for  two  or  three  blacked-roofed  fish-houses  and 
a  few  fishi.ig-boats.  So  deep  was  this  gully 
that  the  buildings  were  entirely  hidden  until 
we  stood  fairly  over  their  heads  and  looked 
down  upon  them. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Donald  McDonald  and  their 
sons  and  daughters  live  in  their  tiny  home  near 
the  bluflf  overlooking  the  northern  sea  and 
overshadowed  by  the  great  rock  that  rises  a 
thousand  feet  from  the  water,  and  is  twin  to  the 
bluff  that  is  the  veritable  Cape  North,  and 
which  stands  to  the  eastward  of  this. 

It  is  certainly  a  mortifying  statement  to  have 
to  make,  but  we  are  not  sure  that  we  really  saw 
Cape  North,  after,  all.  There  was  an  impene- 
trable haziness  about  the  people's  ideas  as  to 
just  exactly  which  bluff  it  was  that  distressed 
us  and  confused  our  understanding.  It  is 
probable,  however,  that,  having  gone  to  Bay 
St.  Lawrence  to  see  Cape  North,  we  did  not  see 
19  2S9 


•'> 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 

it.  We  now  think  it  lay  concealed  behind  the 
splendid  headland  that  came  up  out  of  the  sea 
at  McDougal's  Cove,  and  which  no  doubt  is 
every  whit  as  good  as  Cape  North.  Still  —  ! 
It  was  a  noble  bluff  that  we  saw,  and  it  vividly 
recalled  Smolry's  red  front,  though  this  mass 
rises  almost  perpendicularly.  It  is  followed 
inland  by  another  and  similar  uprising  of  red 
rock,  and  that  by  another,  and  so  on  and  on, 
all  of  them  sending  great  buttresses  out  toward 
the  grassy  plains  and  finally  framing  in  the 
splendid  amphitheatre  of  rolling  meadow-land. 

The  mountains  surrounding  Bay  St.  Law- 
rence are  of  bare  rock.  The  fir-trees,  the 
spruces  and  hemlocks,  discreetly  remain  at  their 
bases  making  a  dark-green  border  to  their 
bright-coloured  walls.  There  is  great  beauty 
in  the  grim  slopes  of  bare  red  rock ;  the  colour 
of  them  is  amazing ;  lichens  and  bushes,  or  it 
may  be  only  the  reflection  of  the  afternoon 
light  at  different  angles  from  the  scarred  sur- 
face, have  made  them  beautiful  beyond  telling. 

There  is  a  sense  of  space,  of  peace,  and 
almost  of  awe  in  the  presence  of  these  strong 
slopes  with  the  wide  grassy  plain  at  their  base, 
and  the  feeling  of  vastness  and  isolation  is  in- 

290 


u' 


Cape  North 


creased  by  the  height  of  the  plain  above  the 
shoreless  sea  that  spreads  before  mountains  and 
meadows. 

The  great  bluff  at  McDougal's  Cove  rises 
from  the  sea  in  a  solid  wsli  around  which  one 
must  pass  in  a  boat  to  the  outer  bluff  which  is 
indeed  Cape  North.  There  is  a  path  over  the 
back  of  the  mountain,  however,  a  rough  path 
to  climb,  through  coniferous  trees  where  on 
the  sheltered  side  they  flourish,  and  over  bare 
stones  where  the  trees  fail. 

Katie  McDonald,  blooming  daughter  of  our 

new-made  friends,  was  to  go  over  the  mountain 

the  very  afternoon  of  our  arrival.     For  on  the 

other   side,   accessible  only  by   boat  and   this 

rude  mountain  path,  is  a  cove  where  has  been 

built  a  lobster  factory.     The  factory  is  owned 

by  the  son  of  a  certain  Rory  McLeod,  known 

to  fame  as  Big  Rory  because  of  his  uncommon 

height.     Money  Point  is   over  there  by  the 

lobster  factory ;  and  it  is  Money  Point  because 

once  —  a  long   time  ago  —  a  specie   ship   was 

wrecked,  and  the  coin  fell  into  the  water,  where 

for  many  a  year  it  was  fished  out  or  thrown  up 

by  storms  and  came  into  the  hands  of  eager 

seekers. 

291 


V 


1.1 


In, 


ma 


V      '■■ 


\,  it 


■h; 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 

The  money  of  Money  Point  is  still  fished 
out  of  the  sea,  but  not  in  the  form  of  specie. 
It  comes  out  as  lobster  to  be  later  transformed 
into  money. 

Sometimes  lobsters  are  scarce  even  here,  and 
there  are  none  to  can.  This  happened  one 
year  when  the  mountains  were  red  with  wild 
strawberries  and  the  canny  son  of  Big  Rory  did 
then,  so  we  were  told,  set  his  people  to  canning 
strawberries  instead  of  lobsters,  and  reaped  the 
reward  he  deserved,  for  these  mountain  straw- 
berries, the  people  say,  are  very  large  and  juicy 
and  wonderfully  flavoured. 

We  were  told,  too,  that  on  the  back  side  of 
one  of  the  mountains  red  currants  grow  wild 
and  in  great  profusion  ;  but  this  marvel  we  did 
not  see  with  our  own  eyes,  though  we  saw  a 
great  many  strawberry  vines  and  some  of  them 
foolishly  in  bloom. 

Katie  McDonald  was  going  over  to  cook  for 
her  brothers,  who  were  canning  lobsters,  and 
she  did  not  seem  to  regard  the  excursion  as 
particularly  pleasant;  but  when  the  time  came 
she  started  bravely  enough,  and  we  watched 
her  until  she  disappeared  on  the  lonely  moun- 
tain, as  though  swallowed  up  by  it. 

SC2 


MM 


Cape  North 


We  should  have  liked  to  go  with  Katie,  but 
there  were  reasons  against  it,  and  we  contented 
ourselves  with  climbing  a  bare  spur  to  the  top 
of  another  mountain,  hoping  for  a  view  of  the 
whole  earth.     As  is  always  the  case,  it  was  far- 
ther to  the  top  than  it  seemed,  and  it  was  a 
very  steep  slope  upon  which  huge   cliffs  and 
crags  jutted  out,  not  pleasant  to  surmount,  and 
perhaps  not  always  quite  safe.     And  at  the  top 
—  nothing !    He  who  climbs  these  mountains  for 
a  view  of  the  world  will  find  himself  on  the  edge 
of  a  mile-wide  plateau  which  is  rough  and  bubbly, 
and  across  which  one  cannot  possibly  see  farther 
than  a  few  rods.     So,  after  all,  it  does  not  pay 
very  well,  for  the  view  down  into  McDougal's 
Cove  from  the  mountain-top  is  not  as  good  as 
the  view  from  the  cove  up  the  mountain,  and 
the  latter  can  be  had  without  any  exertion. 

In  the  McDonald  home  were  a  number  of 
sealskins,  the  seals  being  caught  near  here. 
They  are  not  the  fur-bearing  seal,  but  are 
covered  with  a  coarse  light-coloured  hair,  so 
their  only  value  is  in  their  leather.  We  did 
not  see  any  seals,  but  Charlevoix  did,  and  in  his 
letters  he  tells  certain  things  about  them  which 
we  may  believe  or  not  as  we  please :  — 

293 


■k 


7- 


f\ 


i    I 


\ 


^1 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 

- —  —  1 

"  The  Sea  Wolf,  or  the  Seal,"  says  he,  "  takes  its 
Name  from  its  Cry,  which  is  a  Sort  of  howling  ;  for 
in  its  shape  it  resembles  not  the  Wolf,  nor  any  land 
animal  that  we  know.  Lescarbot  asserts  that  he  has 
heard  some  cry  like  Screech-Owls ;  but  these  might 
be  only  young  ones,  whose  Cry  was  not  quite  formed. 
They  make  no  Hesitation  here.  Madam,  to  place  it  in 
the  Rank  of  Fishes  ;  though  it  is  not  mute,  though  it 
is  brought  forth  on  the  Land,  and  lives  as  much  on  it 
as  in  the  Water,  and  is  covered  with  Hair :  In  a 
word,  though  it  wants  nothing  to  make  it  to  be  con- 
sidered as  an  amphibious  creature.  The  war  they 
make  with  the  Seals,  though  it  is  often  on  Land,  and 
with  the  Gun,  is  called  a  Fishery. 

*'  The  Head  of  a  Seal  is  something  like  a  Bull-Dog's: 
He  has  four  Legs,  very  short,  especially  those  behind  : 
In  every  other  Respect  it  is  a  Fish.  It  drags  itself 
rather  thi.n  walks  upon  its  Feet.  Its  Legs  before 
have  Nails,  those  behind  are  like  Fins ;  His  Skin  is 
hard,  and  covered  with  short  Hair  of  divers  Colours. 
There  are  some  Seals  all  white,  and  they  are  all  so 
when  young  ;  but  some,  as  they  grow  up,  become 
black,  others  tawny ;  many  are  all  these  Colours 
mixed  together." 

The  skins  of  these  creatures  were  tanned 
with  the  bark  of  the  spruce-tree  and  used  for 
boots  and  all  other  articles  made  of  leather. 

294 


Cape  North 


Their  flesh  was  eaten,  and  their  oil  used  in 
cooking  and  for  lighting.  We  are  told  that  as 
many  as  eight  hundred  young  ones  were  some- 
times killed  in  one  day,  so  probably  one 
would  wait  as  long  to  see  a  live  seal  in  these 
waters  as  to  see  a  moose  in  the  mountains  back 
of  Ingonish. 

At  the  McDonalds'  we  were  enlightened 
concerning  certain  pieces  of  furniture  which 
occasionally  were  found  in  the  fisher-folk's 
houses,  —  furniture  out  of  all  keeping  with  the 
simple  cottage  fittings,  furniture  that  belonged 
rather  to  the  cities  or  the  country-houses  of 
the  well-to-do.  But  here  we  learned  that 
these  articles  were  the  flotsam  and  jetsam  from 
the  many  vessels  wrecked  on  that  cruel  coast, 
and  it  was  hinted  that  time  was  when  certain 
of  the  settlers  busied  themselves  more  in  be- 
coming possessed  of  the  spoil  than  in  assist- 
ing the  drowning. 

To  leave  Bay  St.  Lawrence  was  to  turn 
southward  and  retrace  our  steps  over  moun- 
tains and  swamps.  Reluctantly  we  turned 
from  the  cold  northern  sea  and  the  fine  amphi- 
theatre with  its  encircling  mountains  of  bare 
rock  that  were  so  wonderfully  beautiful  in  the 

295 


i 


t 


P  'iv 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 

evening  glow.  Reluctantly  we  bade  adieu  to 
the  McDonalds',  and  their  cordial  hospitality 
that  rang  more  like  English  than  Scotch  metal. 
Yet  the  return  proved  about  as  enjoyable  as 
the  first  passing.  True,  the  uncertainty  as  to 
what  next  was  gone ;  we  knew  what  next, 
but  that  had  its  advantages.  It  was  pleasant 
to  meet  again  the  people  and  to  be  received 
now  like  old  friends.  It  was  pleasant  t-o  carry 
the  bits  of  neighbourhood  gossip  from  station 
to  station  —  like  troubadours  of  old.  And 
the  scenery  we  found  was  quite  new.  For 
we  were  turned  around  now  and  looking  the 
other  way.  It  is  impossible,  moreover,  to  see 
everything  in  once  passing,  so  that  the  return 
trip  was  fully  as  enjoyable  as  the  first  coming. 

We  did  not  linger  going  back.  We  did 
not  dare,  for  there  was  a  threat  of  rain  which 
was  not  to  be  ignored,  unless  we  desired  to 
add  to  our  other  experiences  that  of  a  typical 
Cape  Breton  autumn  storm.  And  that  of  all 
things  we  did  not  desire,  for  there  were  few 
places  we  should  have  cared  to  remain  in, 
storm-bound,  even  for  a  day.  So  we  pressed 
ahead,  past  Zwicker's  and  past  Aspy  Bay, 
lovely  in  the  hazy  atmosphere.     Nor  did  we 

296 


'       ^,  -  V    -  -\    .    "  


A  FisHiNc;  Schooner 


SI 


i 


., 


Cape  North 


stop  until  we  had  reached  the  hospitable  roof 
of  the  Half  Way  House,  where  we  found  all 
as  we  had  left  it,  excepting  that  the  maternal 
cat,  having  been  deprived  of  her  kitten,  which 
a  passing  Highlander  had  begged  to  take  with 
him,  persisted  in  washing  the  face  of  the  white 
dog  with  a  black  head.     As  to  the  dog  him- 
self, perhaps    the   least  said  the    better.     He 
was   bearing  it  as  well  as   he  could,  but   the 
looks    he   cast    upon    the    mistaken    cat    we 
feared    did    not    augur   well    for   her   future 
happiness. 

After  a  good  night's  rest  at  the  Half  Way 
House,  we  were  oiF  in  the  cold  morning,  leav- 
ing Mrs.  McPherson  with  reluctance,  and  she 
too,  seemed  loath  to  have  us  go.     It  seemed 
as   if  we   had  known  the   people   of  "Cape 
North "  a  very  long  time   and   were  parting 
from  old  friends  for  ever.     Before  the  bushes 
swallowed  us  up,  we  turned  for  a  last  look 
and    on    the    doorstep    sat    the    abused   dog' 
wondering,    no    doubt,   how    long    he    could 
stand   It,  while   the   cat,  regardless  of  conse- 
quences,  continued    to  wash    his   already  too 
clean  countenance. 

Sometimes   we   stopped  at  our   old   camp, 

297 


J 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 

fires,  where  they  were  in  particularly  favour- 
able spots,  and  sometimes  we  found  new 
places  for  the  noonday  rest. 

The  people  in  the  barley  fields  nodded  to 
us  and  sometimes  even  smiled.  They  had 
had  time  to  talk  us  over  and  compare  notes, 
and  though  we  might  be  a  little  "lacking"  to 
go  on  such  a  purposeless  journey,  still  they 
felt  in  their  hearts  that  we  were  harmless. 

We  passed  the  Ingonishes  without  stopping 
until  we  had  crossed  the  ferry  at  the  foot  of 
Smoky.  We  did  it  to  save  time,  for  often  the 
men  are  away  in  the  morning  on  the  more  im- 
portant business  of  fishing,  and  the  traveller  is 
obliged  to  await  their  return.  It  was  just  at 
nightfall  when  we  crossed  the  ferry  trusting  to 
our  oft-tried  and  never-failing  |»owers  of  per- 
suasion to  get  taken  in  at  some  wayside  cottage 
on  the  other  side.  This  time  we  came  near 
making  a  fatal  mistake,  for  the  cottages  at  the 
foot  of  Smoky  would  none  of  us.  They 
were  few'  and  far  between,  n»^d  it  is  true 
were  tiny,  and  no  do^         c  true,  as  they 

said,  that  there  )m      r  us.     At  last 

we  cast  anchor  in  ine  in  ,  nich  we  knew  was  a 
spare  room  and  where  v  is  a  small  barn.    They 

298 


4  long 

ly   favour- 
)und    new 

nodded  to 
rhey  had 
•are  notes, 
eking  "  to 
still  they 
less. 

:  stopping 
e  foot  of 
often  the 
more  im- 
raveller  is 
as  just  at 
•usting  to 
"s  of  per- 
le  cottage 
ame  near 
jes  at  the 
They 

is  true 
,  as  they 

At  last 
ew  was  a 
1.     They 


Cape  North 


said  they  could  n't ;  we  said  they  must.     They 
said    it  was   impossible,  and   we   pictured   in 
graphic  terms  the  alternative,  our  being  obliged 
to    spend    the  cold   night   on  the    mountain- 
side, where  they  would  go  out  next  day  and 
find  our  frozen  forms,  and  be  obliged  to  bury 
us  then  and  there,  and  be  pointed  to  by  all 
posterity  as  the  cruel    folk  who   had   turned 
travellers   from   their   door,  to   perish  on   the 
mountain.      They  saw  the  reasonableness  of 
the  argument,  and  we  stayed,. though  it  is  not 
quite  fair  to  say  they  allowed  it,  suffered  it 
would  be  better ;  at  least  until  all  hands  were 
well  warmed  up  over  the  kitchen  stove,  and 
a  supper  of  oatmeal  porridge  had  lent  a  more 
genial  glow  to  all  our  heart-strings.     Then  we 
fell  into  friendly  conversation,  and  the  woman 
showed   us   her   rugs,  and   the   man   told  us 
of  the  awful   night  when  he  rescued  Parson 
Gibbons    from   sure    death   on    the   side    of 
Smoky. 

Many  of  these  people  are  endowed  with 
"second  sight,"  and  all  believe  in  it.  The 
story  the  man  told  was  this  :  One  night, 
bitter  cold  and  snowing,  he  had  a  sudden 
kiiowledge   that  Parson   Gibbons  was  on  the 

299 


r, 
\ 


., 


t 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 

^tmm%.M*»m jiiiw.      ■  i«ii    II  ■■!■— ■■■i^.^—i«»«».^««T-^.Mwi..  Mil— ■!■  I  iBii      .— — »Mi^«i.nw* -     .tmtmmmmmm 

ntouiUiiiii  !nul  in  trouble,  lie  prrparcil  to  go 
out  aiul  his  wife  sjiitl  it  was  tolly,  for  the  parson 
was  not  cx|H'cteil  to  puss  at  that  time  of  the 
month.  But  juich  terror  now  seized  the  man 
that  he  was  compelled  to  go;  and  stumbling 
through  the  snow  he  at  last  found  the  object  of 
his  search,  who,  overcome  by  the  colil,  had  sunk 
down  and  ceaseil  to  exert  himself.  If  he  had 
not  been  fouml  in  this  strange  way,  he  would 
surely  have  perished  that  night. 

At  Wreck  Cove  we  opened  three  large  gates 
and  crossed  three  broad  meadows  in  order  to 
make  our  call  upon  Hig  Kory's  folks  Big 
Rory  himself  was  not  at  home  ;  but  we  visited 
with  Mrs.  Kory,  who,  we  were  pleased  to  find, 
was  sister  to  Mrs.  McLeod  of  iMiglishtown. 

From  Big  Rory's  to  Indian  Brook,  the  way 
was  lovely,  for  the  mountains  of  beauty  were 
about  us,  and  wc  caught  occasional  glimpses  of 
those  cf  iMiglishtown  across  the  sea. 

The  last  night  we  spent  at  Angus  Mc- 
Donald's, who  had  a  large  house  in  the  "  flat 
lands  "  not  far  from  Indian  Brook.  We  had 
lingered  along  the  way,  visiting  with  old  friends 
and  being  hailed  by  new  ones,  for  our  fame 

had  gone   abroad,   and   every   one  who  was 

300 


Cape  North 


related  to  any  one  wc  had  met  —  and  who 
is  not  related  in  that  part  of  the  world?  — 
claimed  acquaintance,  and  it  wa»  dark  'ocforc 
wc  reached  our  destination,  and  we  were 
troubled.  Just  as  the  case  began  to  look 
serious,  wc  saw  a  dirn  form  approaching.  We 
asked  it  the  way  to  Angus  McDonald's,  and 
the  man  replied  that  he  was  Angus  McDonald 
himself,  and  was  on  the  way  home,  and  that 
wc  had  missed  the  turn  and  must  go  hack 
a  little  way.  Providential  meeting!  Gladly 
we  retraced  our  steps,  and  were  soon  in  the 
warmth  of  the  McDonald  hearthstone. 

It  rained  all  night,  and  in  the  morning  the 
sky  was  wet  and  sullen,  hut  we  decided  to 
press  on.  Better  a  wetting  than  isolation  in 
any  of  these  cottages ;  so  on  we  went,  and 
soon  the  rain  came  down  as  if  in  a  fury  at 
having  let  us  escape  so  long.  We  crossed  the 
iron  bridge  over  the  Barasois  River  and  did 
not  turn  to  the  left  toward  Torquil  McLane's 
ferry,  for  the  waves  ran  high  in  Englishtown 
Harbour  and  there  would  be  no  crossing  there 
that  day.  So  we  turned  to  the  right  and  went 
"  North  River  way,"  which  is  longer  but  not 
complicated  by  ferries. 

301 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 

We  thought  we  had  seen  brooks  before,  but 
that  day's  drive  convinced  us  that  we  had  until 
then  known  nothing  about  the  subject.  Then, 
too,  was  explained  the  use  of  the  many  appar- 
ently useless  bridges  ;  under  every  one  poured  a 
torrent,  —  indeed,  the  road  itself  was  often  a 
mountain  torrent  up  which  or  down  which  Dan 
waded,  keeping  to  the  road  by  some  instinct 
which  we  had  not.  There  came  a  place  where 
we  were  surrounded  by  water,  and  where  there 
was  a  pond  at  one  side,  we  knew  not  how  deep. 
The  road  took  a  turn  along  the  edge  of  the 
pond ;  but  what  turn,  which  way  should  we  go 
to  keep  on  terra  firma  beneath  the  rushing 
flood  ?  We  were  in  despair,  and  finally  told 
Dan  to  go  his  own  way,  which  he  did,  and  took 
us  safely  through. 

Down  the  mountain  sides  rushed  foaming 
streams  that  plunged  straight  across  the  road  ; 
every  mountain  was  streaked  with  white  lines 
of  foam  and  dashing  water.  The  world  had 
gone  brook-mad.  Sometimes  the  rain  fell  so 
heavily  as  to  obscure  everything  but  the 
watery  way  in  front;  th^n  it  ceased,  and  we 
looked  out  upon  the  earth  soaked  and  fresh, 

and  covered  with  brooks. 

302 


Cape  North 


We  were  soon  soaked  to  the  skin,  but  in  spite 
of  that  we  were  thrilled  and  warmed  by  the 
beauty  of  the   rain-clad   mountains.      There, 
wonderflii  to  relate !  did  the  crisp  moss  on  the 
trees  in  a  moment  fluff  out  into  soft  masses 
of  delicious  green  ;  did  the  stringy  beards  on 
the  limbs  of  the  spruces  expand  and  become 
light  and  graceful,  and  able  to  sway  in  beautiful 
curves;    did  the   grim  woods   turn  into  fairy 
palaces  with  deep  soft  carpets  of  lovely  moss 
and  exquisite  tapestry  on  every  tree  and  rock. 
The  road  was    new  and  lovely  and   in  the 
sunshine   must  be  a  wonder-land  of  splendid 
mountain  scenery,  judging  from  the  occasional 
glimpses  we  caught  through  the  mists. 

Our  dinner  that  day  consisted  of  crackers 
and  cheese  and  apples,  which  we  sat  in  the 
waggon  and  ate,  while  Dan  munched  his  oats 
as  best  he  could  standing  in  his  tracks  in  the 
road. 

It  was  a  wild  storm,  and  the  road  seemed 
endless.  We  struggled  along  from  early 
mornmg  until  almost  nightfall,  finally  entering 
Baddeck  chilled  to  the  marrow  and  thoroughly 
miserable,  while  Dan  seemed  hardly  able  to  take 
another  step. 

303 


'r  ^€- 


Down  North  and  Up  Along 

A  few  hours  later,  sitting  coseyly  before  a 
glowing  fire,  dry  and  warm,  with  that  delicious 
drowsiness  that  comes  under  such  circum- 
stances, the  pictures  of  our  trip  "  down  north  " 
kept  flitting  before  our  minds ;  and  the  dearest 
pictUiC  of  all  was  of  the  mossy  rain-drenched 
forest  road  with  the  newborn  brooks  tumbling 
across  our  path.  The  wetting  did  us  no 
harm,  and  the  day  in  the  rain  was  a  fitting 
ending  to  our  strange  and  delightful  journey 
"down  north." 


304 


■HHtfiaii 


OliiaHla 


long 

before  a 
delicious 
circum- 
1  north  " 
e  dearest 
drenched 
rumbling 
I  us  no 
a  fitting 
journey 


